ARIELLE;
I awaken with a groan, wondering what ungodly hour it is. How utterly, irrevocably unhappy this day makes me! I rise and wait for my maids, but the room remains stubbornly empty. Clearly, everyone else is far too busy preparing for my impending nuptials to bother with the bride. I suppose I shall have to bathe, dress, and generally make myself presentable, entirely on my own. It seems my life as a pampered princess is already drawing to a close.
I take the liberty of wandering down to the dining room, which is already crammed with a motley assortment of individuals who, I assume, are acclaimed as our esteemed guests. My gaze inevitably falls upon my future husband. He looks as though he'd rather be anywhere else, his expression unreadable and undeniably... cold.
"Darling, you're up early?" my mother asks, her tone laced with a thinly veiled disapproval.
"I find I have no more sleep to unravel," I reply, my own tone as dry as the desert winds. "Perhaps I should simply begin practicing my wifely duties? Polishing the silverware, perhaps?"
Mother's lips tighten. "Really, someone should assist her to her horse for a brisk ride. A distraction is clearly needed."
"Why?" I ask, my brow furrowing. A brisk ride sounds infinitely more appealing than forced pleasantries with distant relatives.
"You are to rest for the entire day," Mother says sternly, "and then you are to be married at dusk."
"Why dusk? Is there some ancient prophecy I should know about? Will I turn into a pumpkin if I am joint before sunset?"
"Just do as I say from now on. If I call you, come right away. Understood?" Her tone brooks no argument.
"Yes, Mother," I say, masking a sigh. I do wonder why I am being treated with such barely disguised impatience.
"Oh, wait! Please proceed upstairs to my room for your dress fitting. I completely forgot."
"Yes, Mother," I repeat, feeling more like a pawn in a game than a bride.
I am duly escorted to the Queenly chamber, where a lineup of dresses in various colors and shades awaits me. Azriel is already there, seated impatiently.
"Oh! You're here. Amazing. Let us get started," she says, her tone brisk and entirely lacking in enthusiasm.
"Why do I have to do this?" I ask, gesturing to the extravagant gowns. "Why can't I simply run away? It's far less intimidating than being joined to the Prince."
"You wouldn't attend your wedding in some random gown, would you? You are so damnably idiotic, Arielle."
"Why are you always so mean to me?" I retort, crossing my arms.
"There are a great many things you don't know about men. You are naive and shockingly ignorant."
"I know a lot," I protest.
"Like?" Azriel raises a skeptical eyebrow.
"They are... like us," I venture, feeling rather foolish.
"And?" she presses, clearly unimpressed.
"And?" Azriel presses, her expression unimpressed. "Tell me, Arielle, enlighten me with your vast knowledge of the people you were calling creatures yesterday. Do you even know where babies come from? Or do you think the storks here are particularly enthusiastic about delivering royal heirs?"
I bristle. "Well, I know it involves…proximity. And probably some level of…enthusiasm. Though, frankly, judging from the Prince's expression this morning, enthusiasm is hardly the word I'd use to describe him."
Azriel throws her hands up in the air. "Proximity! Enthusiasm! Good heavens, you are utterly hopeless. You're about to be married, Arielle. You're about to be shipped off to some distant land with a man you've known for precisely five minutes, a man who, by the way, looks as though he'd rather be battling a hydra than exchanging vows with you. And you know nothing. Absolutely nothing!"
"Well, what's the point in knowing? It's not like I had a say in the matter. Mother decided, the council agreed, and suddenly I'm bartering myself for some strategic alliance or a particularly fetching set of tapestries, or whatever it is queens do these days." I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant, though a knot of anxiety is tightening in my stomach.
"Exactly!" Azriel practically shouts, her face flushed with frustration. "You don't have a say! You're being treated like a broodmare, sent off to breed with some foreign stallion! And you, the most intelligent, the most capable woman on this island, are just going to stand there and let it happen?"
I sigh. "What else am I supposed to do? Stage a coup? Flee into the forest and become a hermit? Those sound terribly inconvenient, and, frankly, my hair isn't suited for outdoor living."
"Oh, Arielle," Azriel says, her voice softening slightly. "You're so much more than just a pretty face and a sharp wit. You could be ruling this island, making real changes, instead of being used as a political pawn."
"And you think the council would actually let me rule? They can barely tolerate my existence as it is. At least marrying the Prince gives me a vaguely legitimate reason to leave this gilded cage." I pause, then add, "Besides, what's all this really about, Azriel? I can't help but think you're more frustrated than the average bridesmaid should be. Are you perhaps harboring some secret ambition to marry the Prince yourself? I haven't noticed you swooning, but one never knows."
Azriel stares at me, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, she lets out a short, bitter laugh. "You really haven't got the faintest idea, do you? What do you think I'm mad about?"
"I don't know Azriel! I'm innocent."
"Innocent?" Azriel scoffs, the word dripping with disdain. "You're not innocent, Arielle, you're willfully ignorant. You've lived your entire life in this sheltered little bubble, oblivious to the realities of the world, and now you're being thrust into the deep end with no idea how to swim."
I frown. "The realities of the world being…men? Why did they come to Khavena, anyway? We were perfectly happy without them. Did Phanes just get bored and decide to add a new species to the mix?"
Azriel sighs, running a hand through her hair. "It's…complicated. Trade agreements, alliances, blah, blah, blah. The council decided it was in our best interest to integrate. Though, personally, I think they just wanted to get rid of you."
"So that's why I'm being aligned with a 'Prince' then?" I mimic the word with air quotes. "Is that what this whole 'marriage' thing is about? What even is marriage, anyway? Is it like a trade deal, but with…emotions? And why do wives even exist? Are they just fancy pets with impeccable manners?"
"Oh, for the love of…" Azriel groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. "A wife is…a partner. A companion. Someone to share your life with."
"And what does this sharing entail? Endless embroidery and polite conversation? Because, frankly, I'd rather wrestle a sea serpent."
"It involves… intimacy," Azriel says, her cheeks flushing slightly. "And children. Usually."
"Intimacy? Is that code for something unspeakable? And children? Why would I want miniature versions of myself running around, demanding attention and disrupting my reading schedule?"
"A husband is the male version of a wife. A husband takes care of his wife and makes babies. And you will have a husband!"
"And they just expect me to…what? Lie back and think of Khavena? That seems remarkably unfair to both of us. Why am I being treated like some kind of…political receptacle? Are all men like this? Is Caith like this? Why is everyone being so hard on me? What happens in the land away?"
I pause, my brow furrowing. "Wait, why am I leaving? I'm good at ruling this island. I give good advice and I read the books on time and I'm brave."
I'm about to get angry and cry and shout. I want to understand.
"Just…stop," Azriel says, her voice strained. "This is all too much to explain in one sitting. Come with me."
She grabs my hand, her grip surprisingly firm, and pulls me towards the door. "Let's go for a walk in the gardens. We need some air, and frankly, I need a strong drink."