Chapter 8: Pressure

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Princess Axelia

Castle guards flank me on their steeds as Aries trots along the stone paved streets of Cadomia's village. One of my duties as a Princess is to do charity work although to me this is more like spending time with extended family. 

We stop once we reach the part of the village Reriman raiders left in ruins. I watch with a heavy heart as peasants and craftsmen word alongside one another to rebuild the homes of those I couldn't protect. 

"Princess, you will be watching the children today," a tall and slender woman says as she approaches wearing a soot stained apron over a long gown. "The mothers are heading to the fields to gather food to prepare for the men. They've been working all morning."

From the sweat on her forehead, I can tell she has been at work, too. Her eyes never meet my own as she stands beneath Aries' shadow, but she does glance at my guards, gulping nervously in the presence of their sheathed swords. 

Although our guards would never harm the women of our village, they are known to be cold and stoic. My father encourages they wear thick armor to present themselves as threatening and intimidating. It annoys me that he would want to have our own people cower in fear, but I also have a softer heart towards the villagers than most of the royalty in our region. I know for a fact that Princess Phaedra never even speaks to the village people of Ciremeth. 

"What authority do you have to command me without proper greeting?" 

My guards dismount their horses causing her eyes to widen as she gasps. Her hands fly up to her chapped lips, and she quickly bows her head.

"Please forgive me, Princess. I am a fool," she utters.

Her response is what I find offensive.

"Guards," I command their attention. The two of them move in front of Aries and await my instruction. "Go help the townsmen rebuild those houses."

Metal clanks as they glance over their shoulders at the heaps of building behind them. Then they return their eyes to me with quirked eyebrows. 

"Your Highness, we are not to leave your side," one assumes I need the reminder. 

"I don't repeat myself," I remind him. 

They hesitate, but then oblige leaving me alone with the woman. 

I dismount Aries, and notice that she is still bowing, her body slightly shaking as I step towards her. 

"What is your name?" I ask, coming to a stop just a foot in front of her. She has long black hair that is pulled back into a single braid that reaches her hips. Pieces of it are sticking up in places, showing that she has kept it in this style for a while. I can also see flecks of grain caught in the twists of the braid. 

"Larisa."

Gently, I place my hands on her shoulders encouraging her to stand up. 

"You are no fool, Larisa, just a woman with an agenda," I give a soft smile, and she mirrors it. 

A moment later I find myself in the company of boys and girls ranging from the age of ten and younger inside of a building we designate for widow mothers. We gather in the main room where there are stations for activities like drawing, painting, building, and a small wooden stage with a barrel of costumes for performing. 

"Princess!" they shout simultaneously as soon as they notice I've joined their company.

Some of them run to embrace me while others continue with their previous bustle.

For three hours, I am left alone with them being drawn to each station by the little hands that pull and tug me in every direction. Although the noise is deafening, I bask in their youthful excitement and vitality. This is the only time I let my guard completely down and feel free to just live.

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