The princess of Aurealia is ready to sacrifice anything for her kingdom and her people. With peasants revolting and her kingdom in the brink of civil war, Ayra decides she must marry a peasant to save her people from killing one another. When she se...
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Walking towards my hut, my heart palpitation rose arrhythmically. I have brought girls home before and introduced them to my family. But this time, I wasn't sure if I wanted to kiss the girl or kill her. Her posture screamed superiority, and her words were often blunt, and rude. Nonetheless, I was curious about her.
Why had the bandits kidnapped a lowly peasant like her? What was their intention? What did they need from her? Why was she acting like she was above everyone else? Was she aristocratic? Then why would she lie to me about her standing in the social hierarchy?
A swirl of questions arose as I glanced at her in my arms. She had fallen asleep, but I didn't mind. Most women don't trust men too quickly.
Women are cats; no matter how much milk you feed, they will look at you inquisitively, with some skepticism the next time you feed them. Men, on the other hand, will wag their tails like dogs years after you gained their trust.
This girl was different. I could say that much.
"Dheeran?" Tara, my youngest sister, and the youngest of the house, asked. "What are you doing here so early? Weren't you supposed to come home in the evening?"
I stepped away from the shadows of the trees, revealing the girl in my arms. Tara scrunched her nose. "And who is she?" Her gaze drifted to the clot of blood on Ayra's arm. "Is she okay?"
"Bandits attacked. She's hurt. Can you get ma?"
Tara nodded, and ran to the small garden in the back of the hut. "Ma!" She screamed as she sprinted.
I set the girl down on the veranda of the house, and waited for my mother to come running. As expected, my mother hurried with unwashed hands, her fingers dirty from gardening. She dusted her hands off on her saree, rushing towards the unconscious girl.
"What happened?"
"Bandits attacked." I repeated. "She got hurt."
"Are you alright?" My mother fussed over me, touching my cheeks and examining me for any injuries. I gently pushed her away from me.
"I'm alright. Help her."
She gave me a stink eye, and returned her full attention to Ayra. My mother's gaze fell on her blood-clotted elbow, and she gasped. The dhoti has fallen apart. "Infection." My mother simply said, getting to work. She asked Tara to grab some herbs from our kitchen, and set to work. I watched her with fascination. I've always wanted to be like her; resourceful with whatever she had, and empathetic.
Except, no one could be as patient and quick-thinking like my mother. It was a talent I couldn't clone.
"I think she fainted." She said. I clenched my hand. Her soft pulses; I should've realized earlier that she wasn't sleeping. "Tara, bring some water."
