Ryn had a quiet moment the day after arriving at the Palace. She sat at a bay window with feet tucked under her, staring out. Her spacious apartment was next to her future husband’s rooms in a private wing reserved for the Royal Family. The thought made her realize just how close her new future loomed.
Outside, life buzzed quietly in the grandeur that was Sazkali Palace; gardeners tended unobtrusively to shrubs in the private courtyard while other service staff scurried about their business. Sentries stood guard at strategic points, standing proud in their black and burgundy uniforms. Overhead, the misty curve of Kirby Garrison loomed amid the clouds and cerulean skies.
The previous evening remained a blur to her, with garish moments of being shown a squalling newborn baby—her future nephew. She’d never seen a newborn before, at least not up close. Though three days old, the vague smell of afterbirth and curdled milk still lingered on the wriggling blob. Following the viewing of the baby, she’d attended a celebratory dinner for said nephew, which coincided with the announcement of her impending marriage to the king. What should have been a joyous occasion, in normal circumstances, was in fact a succession of nauseating moments for Ryn that came in waves. Like she’d been thrown straight into the deep end of the lake, it was no better than her time at the Academy.
The news of the king’s marriage was received with mixed results. Ryn wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but some looked positively relieved at the announcement. Others merely raised eyebrows while the rest applauded cheerfully as if required to do so.
Governor Sola, a cheery, good-natured man with shocking white hair, had sent a young woman, close to her age, early in the morning to help Ryn orient to Palace life and its many protocols. The young woman seemed friendly enough, but did nothing to ease Ryn’s nerves and awkwardness as she was shown around the Palace.
The opulence surrounding Ryn had left her gawking many times. There were many stately rooms; some merely to showcase the vast collection of artifacts and portraits of the Royal Family and the generations the Palace had stood as a landmark for Halantia’s ruling family. Other areas were designed for functionality; meeting rooms, attendance halls, clerical offices, communal gardens and recreational areas for the general public lucky enough to be granted a day-pass. But wherever she went, Ryn sensed the eyes of many upon her. Some openly gaped, while others scrutinized her homely appearance with unchecked sneers. Others simply stared.
Life as queen, she envisioned, would to be nothing but sheer agony. Never had she been looked at this way. It unnerved her to the point she barely heard a word her escort had to say, let alone remember her name.
By mid-morning she retreated to her room and gratefully sank into bed, immediately calling her father. At first, she whined and complained, begging to come back home. Palace life was not for her. By the end of the conversation, after Sul reminded her of her duty and the purpose of the marriage, she sucked it up and nodded sullenly back at his image.
Sibur must pay, her father emphasized.
She’d not forgotten, as badly as she wanted to. As badly as she wished this was all a horrible dream. She’d made a promise and would keep it.
After ending the call, Ryn spent most of the early afternoon sulking in her rooms, imagining what the next three years of her life would be like. As she sat, peering out the window that dominated her living area, she spied at what people wore, how they walked, how they behaved, and despair consumed her. They all seemed so proud and poised, immaculately dressed and coiffed. Cultured and well-bred.
She glanced down at her attire: a simple, tailored one-piece dress she found in her dressing room. It was a pale peach, which made her tanned skin look sickly. No wonder they stared at her. The last four years she’d worn the brown and scarlet cadets uniform. Other than her usual farm attire, she had no idea how city folk dressed. And as for her hair, now that it wasn’t required for her to secure it in a tight braid, it just hung scraggily about her face and shoulders. The dress was fairly uncomfortable; it nipped in sharply at her waist and seemed to bunch up under her arms. What she wouldn’t give right now to trade it for her trousers and vest.
