JOIN THE CLUB =3
EDIT: I switched around chapter orders, so if this is different than you remember, that's because it is. Also, Canislupis's review was for how it was, so you can ignore that.
A/N: I have to finish editing the first chapter, but anything that didn't make sense in there should be explained in the summary, at least enough to understand this chapter as it goes with it. If you still have questions, though, ask away.
Summary: Adah Edric, a banished princess, is working at a girls' academy when her brother Nicholas, the new king, finds her and requests she come back to work as his military adviser. When she says no, he threatens the career of her friend, Gavin.
Chapter 2
In the morning, I return everything the school borrowed me to the dresser in my room, then pull on the only clothes I came with - brown pants, a plain long sleeve shirt, a plaid vest, and soft boots. I haven’t grown much in the two years I’ve been here, so they’re only a little snug. As a final touch, I fasten on a string necklace that has an underdeveloped pinecone for a pendant. Gavin gave it to me.
I pack my few other things in a beige carpetbag no bigger than a large purse. It has more room than I need.
I travel down the back stairs, careful for no one to see me. I don’t need any hard goodbyes, anyone telling me to stay, and certainly not anyone questioning why I’m leaving. The answer’s too close to why I came. They can assume I’m an Adair - someone forced to work the streets due to poverty. Those leave without warning all the time. No one knows where they go.
Outside, I skip through maintenance paths to the main building. It’s stopped raining, but everything’s still saturated with moisture. With high canopied trees and sprawling undergrowth crossing over the cobblestone paths, that’s not surprising. It can sometimes take the greater part of the day for the dew to evaporate.
At the door to the main building, I pause. Do I really want to do this? No. But I have to. If I don’t, he won’t allow Gavin into the military. And I can’t let that happen. I owe it to him to come back. And, despite my reluctance to admit it, there’s a part of me that’s excited for coming back. Not just to see Gavin again or be his training partner - though that’s a miracle in and of itself - but because I miss the cool weather and the dry woods. I miss my bow and arrows. I miss home. I just don’t miss the people.
Taking a deep breath, I push through the door. The main building is like the cafeteria in that it’s large - much larger than it appears from the outside - and also in its frequent use. Students congregate here regularly for lectures, announcements, dances, tutoring sessions, and a number of clubs that meet weekly. None of which I’ve had any part in. Right now, it’s empty save for a man standing by the entrance whose brown hair has tastefully bleached tips that no other dignified person could pull off.
The man sees me then departs, and I follow him. The air out by the drive is muggy, as though the fat drops of rain hang suspended and I’m plowing through them with each step. Passing palm trees, we both climb in a small black limousine, where the air conditioning becomes our savior.
Speaking for the first time, the man, who sits facing me, says, “We’ve never met. My name is Vanadis,” and daringly holds out his hand.
Not hesitating, I take it. “Adah Edric.”
You can tell he’s impressed with my disregard of snobbish royal customs - that is, shaking a commoners hand. I’m impressed he gave me the option.
And though yes, we’ve never met, never spoken to each other, I know him - know of him. He was my brother’s escort - meaning little more than babysitter. But he had a reputation of being too bold and behaving as others dared not. And while my parents adored him, I was never allowed near him for fear I’d learn bad habits. Apparently now I’m mature enough to handle his influence.
The rest of the short one mile ride to the port, neither of us says anything, but I can feel his eyes on me, though I look away, out the window. Not necessarily out of embarrassment, but because I somehow feel he has the right to look me over.
When we arrive at the port, Vanadis ushers me through the sweating men and fishing equipment to the next to last dock. It’s also the largest. The ship stationed there is massive and sleek, and it makes the other boats look like battered canoes. The Amhainian royal crest is printed along its side - a vulture and a flag. The inside’s no less lavish - richly carpeted and wallpapered corridors lead to countless rooms that no doubt hold their own splendor. I walk past them all as Vanadis leads me to a hatch in the back of the ship. Through there is a room I hesitate to enter.
Inside, a team of beauticians descend on me, stripping me, soaking me, shaving me. I know the drill. I allow them to ravage my body - perfecting it - as I remain docile, unattached to the process. After all, a returning princess must look as flawless as she did when she left.
Once my skin is smooth, my hair silky, and my nails uniform, I expect them to leave me to myself. But instead, makeup cases come out, hair irons and pins, body paint. All the things I detest and shouldn’t have to put up with.
“Stop.” They ignore me. “Stop,” I say. They’re so absorbed in their work, it takes three more times before they hear me, and even then they continue. I stand up and back away from their brushes and glosses. “I told you to stop. I don’t want you to do this.”
“We have to, miss,” says a woman wielding a mascara wand. “We were given specific instructions.”
“By who?” I’m not a doll they can just dress up. They did their job. They made me clean. Now they can leave.
“Vanadis, miss.” She visibly retracts, and I flinch. It’s not her fault.
I look around. He must have slipped away while I was in my bath.
“Where is he?”
She looks a little heartened at my lighter tone. “Taking care of official business, miss.”
“Can someone get him?”
I’m a little surprised when she pushes a button on the wall and he appears almost immediately. I forgot what it’s like to have everyone so eager to please.
Catching his eyes, I say, “Why am I being made up?” With him, I don’t hold back any venom - he seems the kind that can take it.
“What, the pampered princess doesn’t want a makeover?”
I narrow my eyes, raise my eyebrows.
“Well, do you really want to look like that at your feast?” He seems to be refraining from calling me nasty things. “Which reminds me, here’s your dress, fresh from the tailors.” I notice for the first time that he’s holding a white garment bag.
“Wait, what feast?”
“Your feast. Didn’t they tell you?” His voice is still condescending, but less so? More pitying, perhaps. I hate pity.
“Why are they throwing me a feast?” I already know, though. And it makes blood rush to my face.
He chooses his words carefully. “To celebrate your returning.”
“You mean to broadcast the fact that I was sent away in the first place.”
“Look,” Vanadis says, suddenly stern. “If it were up to me, we wouldn’t be doing this. It’s going to be hard enough to build you a decent reputation as it is.” He leans close so that only I can hear him. “But your brother ordered this personally. You’re just coming back. Even under normal circumstances, your brother is not one to cross, you should know as well as I.” He steps back and speaks normally again. “Now, are you ready to sit down and be beautified?”
Scowling, I return to my seat. As they primp me, I can’t help but know he’s right. This isn’t the time or place to anger Nick. And the fact that Vanadis realizes his intent, it speaks more about him than any rumor I’ve heard.
When the beauticians decide I am at my optimum exquisiteness, I step into the dress Vanadis brought - a sleeveless gown, light green, decked in lace and embroidery - which shows the feast was obviously not a spur of a moment type of thing. It was planned all along. Peach heels lend me three inches in height.
Vanadis circles me, lips pursed. The beauticians may be responsible for my appearance, but as my escort it’s he who has the final say in anything that is done to me. Wordlessly, he pulls the fabric tighter over my chest.
“A little loose - we had expected you to develop more in this area - but it can be easily altered.” With a snap of his fingers, I am hastily forced to shed the dress, and one of the manicurists transfers it to the tailor.
Now naked, I am given a robe and told to stand quietly while my accessories are given a final approval. Just as the last clip is discarded, the boat slows, swaying from the low speeds. Soon, it stops altogether and I am guided outside to an awaiting train car.
I ride in that for a few hours, growing tenser as the scenery rockets by, the familiar landscape that I‘ve longed for. The rolling hills. The thick forests. The wide farmland. The sky, unadulterated from rain clouds and leafy trees and thick mists. Just clear, crisp nature. Everything I was forced to leave behind.
I never wanted to go. Maybe if I had known the consequences, I would have kept my mouth shut. But I didn’t - I never imagined them. Never knew how far my father was willing to go to set an example.
Vanadis comes in and we go to another car, where the beauticians are waiting along with my dress, which now unsurprisingly fits my body. Finishing touches are applied and I’m fed pieces of fruit and nuts, one at a time, so as not to mess up my lip gloss, which is reapplied after I take a drink of water. It’s not much, but enough to hold me over until the feast - where, of course, I’ll be too busy making a speech and dancing with revolting men to eat much of anything.
For the rest of the ride, I just stand around, nerves magnifying with each jostle of the tracks. We should be home soon.
Home. I close my eyes and try to imagine it. The only thing that comes to mind is Gavin in the woods, hunting. I wonder if he’s changed at all. He must’ve. Gotten older, stronger, smarter. All of the things we were supposed to do together, back before I spoke up.
As the train decelerates, Vanadis returns to my car, carrying a small box in one hand and some sort of white wire in the other. He drops the wire in my hand, and I see it’s attached to an ear bud.
“Put that in,” he says. “I’m going to read you your speech as you give it, and make sure you don‘t make a fool of yourself. There’s a tiny microphone attached, if you need anything.”
The thoughtfulness of it is so touching.
“Thanks,” I say, partly sarcastic, and slide the bud in my ear, concealing the wire behind my ironed-in curls.
“And this is from me,” he says, passing the box to me.
I wait for an explanation, but he gives none, so I open it. Inside is a shiny piece of plastic paper and a small bottle of solvent. You put the plastic on your skin, dump the solvent on it, and black ink on the other side falls from the plastic and absorbs into your skin - it gives you a tattoo. Vanadis has a lot of nerve giving that to me. If I was found having it, I’d be put in solitary punishment for a week, maybe longer. I don’t want to know what they’d do to him.
I pick up the smooth plastic and rub it with my fingers, then turn it over to a side with writing on it.
Don’t make them suffer like that.
It takes a moment for the words to set in, and then tears threaten my eyes, but I blink them back - I don’t cry in front of people. I also don’t want the beauticians back to correct whatever damage it might do.
I read it out loud - a whisper, really - and Vanadis says, “Do you remember what that’s from?”
How could I forget? I think. I want to say it. But I can’t. All I can do is nod, and we both understand.
I return the paper to the box and set it on my seat. Vanadis picks it up and says, “I’ll make sure it’s brought to your room.”
That snaps me back into reality. The train’s stopped, and it’s time for us to leave. I breathe deeply to compose myself before I disembark.
Any critiques are welcome, but, like with the last chapter, reviews on pacing, character development, dialogue, readability, and how the emotions are conveyed (which I don't think is very well, but you be the judge of that) are conveyed, are preferred. Also, I'd like to know: what does the MC seem like to you? Because I'm not sure I'm writing her well enough.
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