I had always dreamed of this day. Ever since I was a little girl, I had imagined the rustle of the silk, the hushed awe of the crowd, the joyous tears. But on this day, the silk felt like a cage, the hushed silence of my chambers was heavy with dread, and the tears I shed were not of joy, but of a quiet, desperate terror.
"You look really pretty, Princess," my maid, Adeline, said. Her voice, thick with emotion, cracked on the last word. At thirty-something, Adeline had been my shadow and my confidante for as long as I could remember. Now, even she was crying tears of joy for a union I knew was a living death.
I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair, a cascade of red, looked like fire against the pale skin of my shoulders. Each wavy strand was laced with white pearls and flowers, turning the burning color into something soft and ethereal. My gown, a deep crimson that hugged every curve, was woven with tiny, glinting beads that winked like secrets. I looked pretty, yes. I looked like a queen. But the emerald depths of my eyes, usually so full of life, were flat and filled with sadness.
A knock, firm and measured, startled me. "Are you ready, sweetheart?" My mother's voice, as steady as her rule over the Asadavi kingdom, called from the other side. As queen, she was a rock, known for her strong soldiers and victorious wars. But as my mother, I saw the tight line of her mouth, the subtle tremor in her hands. She was a queen, but she was still a mother.
My breath hitched, a ragged gasp caught in my throat. I tried to speak, but the words were a fragile, crumbling wall against the flood of my fear. My chest tightened, a vice-like grip stealing the air from my lungs. The dam burst. Tears streamed down my face, hot and fast, tracing paths through my meticulously applied makeup.
"I can't, Mother," I sobbed, the words a desperate plea. "He's a mo... mon... monster. He will kill me!" My voice broke, echoing the fragile splintering of my courage. I knew the stakes: this union would strengthen our kingdom, protect my father and my people. It was a noble cause. But it was a terrible price.
My mother pulled me into a tight embrace, her expensive gown smelling of jasmine and power. But the scent offered no comfort, only a stark reminder of our different worlds. "Everything will be alright, my dear," she murmured into my hair, a hollow promise that felt heavy with unspoken truths. "We will get you back once you accomplish the mission." Her words were meant to be reassuring, but they only served as a countdown to my temporary escape, not a permanent rescue. "You are ready, my dear child. You can do it. It's time."
With those words, she pulled away, her expression softening into a painful, regal smile. For a moment, she was not the Queen, but just my mother, grieving for the child she had to send to war.
I turned back to the mirror, my reflection a stranger with smeared makeup and haunted eyes. I straightened my dress, the motion stiff and deliberate. "You can do this, Jackline," I whispered to the desperate girl in the glass. It wasn't encouragement; it was a command. I gave one last, long look around the room, taking in every detail. I knew I might not come back. The grand, gilded doors of my chamber opened with a heavy groan, sealing my fate with a final, echoing sound.