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  CHAPTER 1 - Lamb to the Slaughter

  I will be dead in precisely one week.

  This was the statement that circled across her mind endlessly, evading her incessant yet futile attempts to quell it. No matter how much she attempted to chase away the distressing thought, the notion of her impending doom was a rope curled around her neck, wringing tighter and tighter, until her panicked lungs forced her to gasp for air. But even then, the thought would not leave her. It rang in her ear and echoed in her head and she feared her brains would explode.

  Yes; in a week’s time, I will be dead.

  Arisha Katayul stared out of her cabin’s window wordlessly, her shoulders tense and her legs frozen in place. Though the gentle, traveling waves and calm stretch of the sea reflected a tranquil blue sky, Arisha found herself searching for flaws in this blissful scene—any indicator that would perhaps clearly foretell the end of her unfortunate predicament. The discrepancy between her harsh reality and the almost-unnaturally peaceful sight before her was unsettling. Her stomach was beginning to knot itself again.

  “Princess Irene.”

  Arisha blinked, startled. She hadn’t initially registered that she was the person being addressed, though it had been almost three months since the name was given to her. She turned to the speaker who had approached—that middle-aged woman with a solemn, permanent frown. Klara was one of the servants who had chosen to accompany Arisha on her journey. Normally, the broad-shouldered spinster kept to herself when carrying out duties, but strangely she had been making an effort to engage with Arisha at least once a day since they started their travel. Arisha felt rather awkward conversing with the old maid.

  “Princess Irene, would you like to amuse yourself with some embroidery?”

  Arisha glanced down at the basket the woman carried into the room. Inside were threads of every color, and needles of all sizes pinned on the cotton spools.

  “I’d rather not,” Arisha replied. It will certainly make me more anxious.

  Klara set the basket down on the wooden dresser beside Arisha’s bed. “I implore you to do something to put your mind at ease, Princess Irene. It simply won’t do if you become mad when you step foot off of this ship.”

  It wouldn’t matter if I become mad or not, for I will be dead, Arisha thought emotionlessly, but she nodded at Klara to will an early dismissal. Klara did not take the hint, and continued to stand there and stare, as though berating Arisha with her cold, gray eyes.

  Arisha looked at her again. “You may go,” she said. “I think I will sleep a bit soon.”

  Klara’s brows furrowed. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it and bowed her head. “Then I will be up again later with your dinner, Princess Irene.” Upon seeing Arisha’s brief wave, Klara curtsied and exited the room, her grim expression unchanging.

  With the woman gone, Arisha returned her attention to the water outside her window. The thoughts were repeating themselves again, and with every passing moment they were getting louder and faster and Arisha feared she would turn blind with the headache that was now plaguing her.

  This isn’t like me at all. Snap out of it!

  SNAP OUT OF IT!

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Two hummingbirds were flying between the flowers in Princess Ivy’s orchard. It must have been the streaks of colorful feathers decorating the birds’ wings as they fluttered, for the young girl took notice of them the moment she stepped foot past the gates. With a delightful yell she rushed toward the birds, nearly tripping over her peach gown as she ran. Her blonde pigtails flew behind her like ribbons in the wind. Trailing a bit after her was a girl a bit older and taller, with the same fair complexion but a much darker mane flowing freely in a ponytail. The raven haired girl wore a simple celeste dress with a clean white cap. Her uniform resembled that of those alike her status, with the only sighted difference to be the pink ribbon tied around her waist. The plain ornament signaled a firm station above the simple attendant; this was the princess’s head lady-in-waiting.

  “Come, Arisha, take a look at this,” Princess Ivy called to her companion. “Aren’t they beautiful? Look at how they flap their small wings! Dainty little things, how adorable!”

  Arisha nodded quietly and walked toward her charge.

  Next to Ivy was a gardener who smiled at the bright young princess. Ivy turned around and beamed back at the man. “I’m right, aren’t I? They’re such happy little critters.”

  “Quite, Your Grace! They’re certainly strong, handsome little beasts!”

  Arisha stepped forward until she was beside Ivy and stopped. She observed the hummingbirds and glanced at the princess. “You have a good eye, Your Highness. That one is called Catherine’s hummingbird. That one is the Golden Bluetail. If I recall correctly, Lady Ann has one in her garden that looks similar.”

  “Oh! The young lady knows her birds!” The gardener exclaimed with a delightful clap of his hands. “You’re absolutely right, miss!”

  Princess Ivy reached forward to grab one of the birds, but it instantly flew away. Her gaze of admiration morphed into an annoyed, playful scowl. “They must not like me very much, the silly pets.”

  “They don’t take kindly to being snatched pretty fast in particular, I reckon,” the gardener chuckled. “However, there are some charming lads in the royal aviary if you’d like to peek closer.”

  “Shall we head over there, my lady?” Arisha asked, bending down a bit. Her long, silky locks cascaded over her shoulder.

  “I’ve plenty of time before noon,” Princess Ivy responded. “I’d rather head to the kitchens for a quick bite to eat before going. Come!”

  “Naturally, my lady,” Arisha nodded. “After you.” She gestured to the direction of the palace.

  Ivy nodded at the gardener, who bowed and tipped his hat. “Good work, good sir. I hope to see some pretty flowers soon.” She then skipped off.

  “Do observe more reservation in your manner of speech before the princess from now on,” Arisha told the gardener sternly as soon as Princess Ivy was out of earshot. “This casual way of conduct is absolutely unacceptable. Is that understood?”

  “Ah! Er—why, yes, miss, but of course… Beg your pardon!” The gardener stammered, bowing and apologizing profusely. His eyes met hers and he seemed to be paling.

  “His Majesty would not have tolerated it. Behave in front of the princess as you would in front of the king. It should not be a difficult task.” Arisha pressed on, her tone cold.

  “I-That is to be expected, yes… You’re absolutely right. Please… Forgive me.”

  To know one’s place: this was the very first lesson ingrained in Arisha Katayul’s mind from her arrival to the palace. Etched into the depths of her memory like a branded mark, the concept of remembering her standing never left her conscious being. It had been taught to her by her father, General Sirk, ever since she could walk. Know your duty to the throne, he’d told her; for is an honor to serve.

  To be granted such an honor was the attestment of luck. This was a sentence that Lady Katherine Zoon, her childhood tutor, used to remind her of constantly. Arisha was very fortunate for an orphan, and being an abandoned one, at that. Having been found bundled in a basket on the front porch of the esteemed General Sirk—tragically notorious for his sole dedication to the Crown, and his complete lack of regard for all else—and having been adopted and raised as the general’s own—this, Lady Zoon insisted, was the epitome of luck. And above all else, to have been favored by the king to become the princess’s protector… Arisha must have been born under a truly lucky star. Yes; Arisha Katayul ought to have been shouldering an unimaginable amount of debt and gratitude for her charitable father and their ruler.

  Needless to say, Arisha did not hold Lady Zoon in a particularly fond light. While the passionate woman was right in her declarations, the facts she spoke were truths Arisha already knew and embraced with a dignity Lady Zoon did not seem to characterize. It was unfortunate, but Arisha did not care to correct her tutor. It was a dreary battle, and ended in naught but wasted efforts.

  Arisha did not consider herself inferior to the other children of her same status. In fact, she was well aware of her achievements and her advancing beyond the skills of other generals’ children. Because of her early start in training, Arisha managed to exceed the qualifications of becoming one of the Princess's prime ladies-in-waiting. Now, this was no simple task; the kingdom of Myenamo was governed by a widower king—His Majesty Simon Harten the Second—with a single daughter—Princess Ivy Harten. Parents are often overprotective, but King Simon went the extra mile to secure the safety of his beloved child. After the untimely death of Princess Ivy’s mother, Queen Consort Clarian, King Simon formed a secret band named the Maidens of Clarian, members of whom served as trained protection: all while being ladies-in-waiting to the young princess. This intense training was overseen by none other than the faithful General Sirk. And naturally, since she was his only daughter, the task of protecting the princess became Arisha’s main life purpose. Under General Sirk’s influence, Arisha’s sincere and utter loyalty to King Simon rivaled that of her father. Such enthusiasm, however, did not translate well to her soon-to-be keep; unfortunately, Arisha would be disappointed to find that she considered the young Ivy Harten appallingly na?ve.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Do you think this new batch of fabric imported from Ruisong will come in time for the annual ball?” The starry-eyed princess clasped her gloved hands together in heavy anticipation for her private tailor’s response. Beside her stood two ladies-in-waiting around her age—a girl with dark red ringlets and an easygoing smile, and a girl with straight, raven hair and a sober countenance. The former was called Miss May Well, and she had been the princess’s lady-in-waiting for two years. The latter was Arisha Katayul Sirk, and she was going to be Princess Ivy’s lady-in-waiting beginning the next week.

  “Oh, meine gute Dame,” the tailor said, elaborately gesturing his measuring tape; “it always does!”

  Arisha shook her head disapprovingly at the flamboyant display that was the man, and looked even more stern in regard to his hairstyle, its tip having been curled to such an extent, it clearly was, indubitably, done to make a statement. “Take care not to speak so casually to the princess, Mr. Knightley.”

  “Oh, but I am so fond of him, I can’t help but not mind at all!” Princess Ivy chirped. “Kindly ignore her, Mr. Knightley, she’s a new one of mine. Father really does pick the most stuck-up ones to be my lady-in-waiting these days!” She made a face, and shared a cheerful chuckle with her comrade.

  May Well—the redhead girl—gave Arisha a sympathetic glance, though she joined in the laughter politely.

  “I want this year’s dress to be absolutely dazzling,” Princess Ivy was now saying. “Gorgeous beyond comparison! You can make this happen, can’t you, Mr. Knightley? I want this year to be perfectly unforgettable!”

  “Why, Your Highness is certainly remarkable every year,” May said with kind, smiling eyes.

  “Is there a special occasion this year?” Mr. Knightley asked brightly, more than eager to humor his royal client. A cool glare from Arisha bade him to hastily add, “—Your Highness.”

  “Well, the set date for this year’s ball just happens to fall on a very special number.”

  May and Mr. Knightley exchanged slightly puzzled expressions, and neither made a guess.

  “You two should know!” Princess Ivy exclaimed. “Don’t betray me so… How could you not remember?”

  “It is the anniversary of your debutante ball, Your Highness,” Arisha answered.

  “Oh—” The blonde turned to look at her lady in wonder, but only for a few seconds, for she became distracted rather instantly afterwards; “see, you two? See—! She’s not been with me for two days and she remembers better than you both! How horrid, and how very bad of you!”

  “I do beg your pardon, Your Highness,” May apologized sheepishly. “I’ll remember going forward.”

  “Forgive me as well, sü?e Prinzessin,” Mr. Knightley performed an exaggerated bow—at least in Arisha’s eyes.

  “Don’t be silly, I’m not actually angry,” Princess Ivy giggled. “Oh, but I am hungry. Come, ladies. I must satisfy my appetite at once!”

  And so it was with serving the young princess. Before long, Arisha was promoted to head lady-in-waiting, an occupation she both appreciated and despised.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Princess Ivy was still excitedly describing the breeds of hummingbirds she would like for her weekend gift as they walked toward the kitchens when an abrupt announcement stopped the group in their tracks.

  “A message for the princess!” The young lad cried, red-faced and a bit out of breath. “Pray, excuse the intrusion! His Majesty asks for Your Highness’s presence, and for General Sirk’s daughter as well!”

  “Is that you?” Princess Ivy asked May, who in response shook her head and widened her eyes in surprise.

  “Your Highness, we should go to His Majesty,” Arisha stepped forward and respectfully gestured toward the door, where the panting messenger boy stood. “It seems to be an urgent matter.”

  “Right, it’s you,” Princess Ivy said, sticking out her tongue playfully. “Who would've guessed? The very-serious General’s daughter takes much after her father! Understand? Because you’re both so—”

  “At once, Your Highness,” the boy called. “We mustn’t keep them waiting; please, do follow me!”

  Arisha curtsied to Mr. Knightley, and bid a quick goodbye to both him and May, then quickly led the princess out the room, and they scurried down the long, wide hallway, following the unsettled young boy.

  As soon as they entered King Simon’s office, Arisha took one glance at the two gentlemen in the room and understood what was amiss. Both men wore grim frowns, and the one standing ushered the girls in and shut the heavy doors behind them and secured them before returning to the king and their guests.

  “Father?” Princess Ivy raised an eyebrow, nervously clenching her fan. “What’s the meaning of this, please?”

  The king glanced past her, at Arisha, who followed behind the princess dutifully. Upon meeting his eyes, Arisha lowered her gaze and curtsied. “Your Majesty,” she murmured respectfully as a greeting.

  “The Emperor has sent an official seal…” King Simon began, but was almost immediately cut off by his choking sobs. “An official declaration, do you understand…”

  Princess Ivy rushed up and wrapped her arms around her father. “Oh, what’s the matter, now? There, there! What has got you so down, Father? Please don’t… I’ll start to cry if you keep crying…”

  Arisha felt the general’s eyes on her, but didn’t meet them. Her attention remained on the king.

  “I don’t want to send you away, my dear…” King Simon cried. “But how could I possibly go against the Emperor of Hiza? The fate of the empire depends on this—why, oh why did I…”

  General Sirk cleared his throat. “Ahem… Your Majesty, if I may… perhaps we should offer Princess Ivy a sound explanation.”

  “Yes, ah… you’re quite right, Dmitri. But… oh, allow me to compose myself… I trust you to do the honors.”

  Princess Ivy looked helplessly lost as she shifted her gaze toward General Sirk, prompting.

  “War is on the brink of erupting, Your Highness.” General Sirk sighed. “Between the Qzwar and Hiza empires. Our kingdom, Myenamo, is large and has bountiful resources, and the Emperor of Hiza debated whether or not to simply sell this kingdom to Qzwar. However, the empire of Hiza owes the Qzwar empire much debt, thus monetary negotiation is off the table. The only peaceful terms speakable at this point would be a political union… an arranged marriage between two heirs, Your Highness. The Emperor of Hiza has no living heirs nor relatives, and Myenamo is the kingdom desired by Qzwar, hence Emperor Roy has decided to accept the engagement of Your Highness and the Crowned Prince of Shxidue, capital of Qzwar.”

  “Emperor Roy of Hiza approved of what?” Princess Ivy screamed. “Father, what nonsense is General Sirk saying? What arranged marriage? Who’s the crowned prince? Father? Answer me, Father!”

  Arisha watched the melodramatic scene unfold with cloudy contemplation. The Qzwar empire was not known for its civility or hospitality. It certainly wasn’t known for its kindness. The Qzwar were conquerors, and ruthless, ambitious ones at that; the only reason Hiza had been able to reside beside the empire on easy terms was the Treaty of Ageburg, established nearly five hundred years ago. The details were not important, nor could they ever be retrieved, as the ancient document had been long since locked and buried, and no living ruler had a copy of the original script. Now, then, who would still put effort into abiding by rules of a treaty that could be categorized as lost-to-time?

  “There must be something we could do…” Princess Ivy shook her head, tears welling up in her large, black eyes. “You must be disgusted by the arrangement, Father. I’m horribly frightened, myself…”

  She must not be as airheaded as she appears, Arisha mused. I judged her too soon. I see she realizes that setting foot on Qzwar land as a citizen of Hiza nowadays means certain death, regardless of stature.

  “I can’t marry some stranger, Father, I must marry my true love!”

  “Oh, cease your whining at once!”

  Arisha widened her eyes and looked around to find who had uttered such blatant words, only to see, from the stunned faces next to and before her, that it was she, herself, that projected the sentence.

  Slowly, the initial shock receded, and the general grabbed Arisha’s arm firmly. “My deepest apologies, Your Majesty, I have been too soft on her. Such rudeness is out of line… I’m incredibly sorry, Your Highness…”

  King Simon inclined back on his chair slowly, his tears having subsided. He seemed to be considering the situation and a just repercussion for the young girl speaking out of turn. Princess Ivy stood next to him, a look of silent incredulity plastered across her face.

  Arisha blinked as she felt the pinch of General Sirk’s fingers on her arm, and she dropped into a bow. “Forgive this fool, Your Majesty… I have no excuse for my despicable carelessness…”

  “All can be forgiven,” King Simon said softly.

  “P-pardon, Your Majesty?” Arisha glanced up at him.

  The general’s gaze was empty and solemn.

  “All can be forgiven, child…”

  Princess Ivy frowned. “Father, what do you m—”

  “Simply take the princess’s place. Yes…” King Simon nodded, his voice growing louder with each word. “Seeing as you’re so full of yourself, my haughty friend, why don’t you relieve us of our burdens, and—”

  “My king,” General Sirk cut in. “Your Majesty seems pale. Shall I call for a physician?”

  “I am very well, Dmitri. Indeed, I am better than ever! It is so simple—wherefore haven’t I thought of this before? Qzwar has never seen my Ivy’s face, they won’t know, why should I send my daughter off to her demise when I can send a loudmouthed brat?”

  Arisha flinched.

  General Sirk was silent.

  Princess Ivy looked as if she were about to faint. “Demise?”

  “Prepare a letter at once, Dmitri,” King Simon waved his hand. “For His Imperial Majesty. That we humbly accept his commands. Have the maids dress the girl in Ivy’s jewels and dresses.”

  General Sirk bowed. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

  “What?” Princess Ivy wailed. “How can this be?”

  The weeks that followed were tumultuous. After General Sirk rebuked Arisha for not holding her tongue, he reminded her that it was her duty and honor to serve the Crown, and, by extension, Princess Ivy. Arisha knew this, and said nothing in retaliation, for she knew her debt to the general. Days flew by, and Arisha soon found herself buried in books of palace etiquette and the Qzwar tongue. She was also drilled by Monsieur Laurent and Herr Hüber on foreign politics, particularly that of the Qzwar Court. Arisha very much doubted that Princess Ivy had been prepped so much in her education of international imperial affairs, but knew better than to protest, and her will was as firm as General Sirk’s.

  Princess Ivy, on the other hand, objected every step of the way. After she had learned that most of her dresses will be given to Arisha, along with her tiaras and jewels, she threw such a tantrum, Arisha wondered just how the king did not consider going with the original plan. Then Princess Ivy began to rebel: she snuck out of her quarters each night and climbed out the walls of the palace and did not return until morning, and threatened the servants who dared to attempt to report her to King Simon. Arisha knew the other ladies-in-waiting were well aware of the princess’s fondness for… adventure… and turned a blind eye, while quietly ensuring her safety from the shadows, as well-trained protection that they were.

  And then day came to see the pretend-princess off. Dozens of carriages in gold and silver parked in front of the palace, the golden ones supplied by none other than Emperor Roy, who had insisted as an act of gratitude to King Simon. Servants mounted the silver carriages, and cases of luggage filled the compartments. Arisha stood before a particularly fancy gold carriage in a flowing purple gown, with a long, generously embroidered cape cascading down her back and its hood over her bound hair.

  Arisha’s head hung low as she surveyed the people about her. King Simon was there, naturally, for the sake of appearances, and General Sirk was beside him, as he always was. Princess Ivy was nowhere to be seen.

  King Simon squeezed out a few tears and sniffed loudly into his handkerchief as he sorrowfully put on a surprisingly convincing show. “My dear child! Oh, my good, dearest daughter…,” he said, crying.

  “I wish you a safe journey, Your Highness,” General Sirk said.

  Arisha glanced at the eyes watching them—the hundreds of pairs of eyes, expectant, anticipating, sympathetic—and smiled meekly, nodding to the king and letting her hood fall further, covering the sides of her face. It was all formalities. Every single person present knew—the ones with satisfactory understanding of history and politics, anyway—the chances of the princess returning to Hiza alive were next to nothing.

  Soon, I shall be nothing more than a piece of memory.

  Arisha’s eyes swept over the gentle waves outside her window a final time, musing. Lady Zoon was wrong. If anything, Arisha was born under the unluckiest star there ever was.