Page 3 of Settle Down, Princess

“We look forward to attending,” came the formal response from the King of Stormare, but even I could hear the tension in my father’s voice. “Now, Jessalyn.” I jumped when he took my hand, at first startled by the unexpected touch, then biting back a whimper of pain as his fingers gripped mine so hard they ground together. “Take the hand of the Kheanian envoy.”

I lifted my other hand automatically, for I was no more able to resist a direct command from my father than I could shape-shift into a bird. But I didn’t reach my hand out toward their envoy: not when he moved towards me, nor when he came to stand beside me. Although I couldn’t take a deep breath, I caught a hint of sandalwood, orange peel and… man, spicy in a way that made my nose tingle. He took my hand in his, dwarfing mine as he cradled it. Despite him having a much gentler approach than my father, it was not a sensation that I could enjoy, for the heat from his skin burned through my thin silk gloves and I felt like it was branding me the possession of his king.

“Let it be known that I give my daughter, the Princess Royal of Stormare, Her Royal Highness, Jessalyn Pearl Yasmina Tennesley—” Each one of my names felt like a weight, shoving me down, ensuring my compliance. “—in marriage to…”

There was a brief uncomfortable pause before the envoy spoke up.

“King Magnus, ruler of the Kheanian Empire,” the envoy said. “Lord of the Northern Reaches, master of the Iridescent Seas.”

My father repeated back my future husband’s titles, just like an obedient child. For the first time in my life, I understood that’s what he was, in political terms at least. I knew of Stormare’s political position and how fragile our independence was, but part of me had seen the stability, the peace, and the prosperity of our nation and thought—foolishly, I now realised—that perhaps my father was the only man strong enough to stand against three mighty kingdoms; perhaps he had skilfully brokered a peace based on a mutual need for a loophole in the trade embargoes each of the three kingdoms had against each other. Perhaps…

“Tomorrow, you set out for Khean with my daughter,” my father said. “You will transport her to your king.”

“We will protect her with our lives, Your Majesty,” another deeper, gruffer voice said.

“See that you do.” Some of the iron came back to my father’s voice.

It was all decided, just like that, without a word from me. In my mind, I heard the clang of my cage door slamming shut, the click of the lock. I found myself breathing faster and faster and knew it was dangerous because I was already breathless due to the damnable corset. But now… I yanked my hand free of my father’s. Although his grip had left my fingers almost numb, I brought my hand fluttering through the air, like a dying bird. I pulled it to me to land on my chest, but when I touched the pearl-encrusted bodice, a feeling of rage erupted within me, and I wanted to tear every single one from me. Instead, all I could do was fruitlessly claw at my chest.

“Father—”

“My daughter is overcome by the incredible honour your king has paid her.” My king’s words cut across mine, silencing me effectively. “She will withdraw now and go to the women’s quarters to prepare for the journey.”

There was no compassion in his voice, no hint of contrition about the fate he was consigning me to. Despite my anger and my sense of betrayal, my father’s words brought home to me just how weak his position really was. The Kheanian contingent had arrived at his door to demand his only daughter in marriage on behalf of a king who had not even bothered to venture forth and claim her for himself. There had been no other option than for Father to agree. He’d had to, or else risk a war that would obliterate my country and set the continent aflame. And so, I held my tongue, the intensity of my emotions only betrayed by my shuddering breaths and the tremor in my hands. I was completely unprepared for the gentle squeeze of the envoy’s hand as he remained holding mine, his thumb brushing against my knuckles back and forth, back and forth, in a soothing rhythm.

It was the first time a man unrelated to me had ever touched me; that had to have been the reason for my reaction. My cheeks flushed bright red under my veil as I fought twin impulses. The first was to run, screaming, away from this shadowy man, who’d been sent by his king to fetch me…

And the other was to grip his fingers tight, holding onto him like a rope thrown out to a woman drowning at sea.

“Come, Jessalyn,” Mother said, climbing the stairs and taking my other hand, drawing it away from my chest.

At first, I was like one of those obstinate mules the merchants were always complaining about and my feet stayed rooted to the floor. Mother tugged at my hand gently to get me to obey, and I kept a tight hold on her, for the veil still obstructed my view. I stumbled after her down the steps and along the red carpet, my legs getting caught up in my skirts like they so often had when I was much younger. However, the moment we left the court and the massive doors had closed behind us, I pulled free of her grip.

“Jessalyn, darling—”

“Don’t,” I snapped in a tone I would never have dared use with my mother before.

Facing a death sentence seemed to have done a lot to loosen my tongue, along with my carefully controlled behaviour. I paced back and forth, back and forth, refusing to move in the gliding steps I had been trained to use at all times. As I paced, shivers set in as my body reacted to my fate. I rubbed my gloved hands along the bare skin of my upper arms, but neither the long silk gloves or the dazzling gown provided much in the way of warmth, and I stopped in a swirl of skirts to look down at the dress in disgust.

One I’d spent my life waiting to wear.

My hands shook as I stared down at the pearls, attached in long swirls designed to accentuate the line of my body, and I hated them with every breath in my body. Because of the way they’d been sewn, because of how the bodice fitted so tightly, I couldn’t fill my lungs. My chest burned with the effort to breathe, making my head feel as light as a feather, and just as likely to blow away in a strong breeze.

“Jessalyn, there is a way—”

“No.” That was a word that I was never given the chance to use. A princess was graceful, beautiful, accomplished, and elegant, but never opinionated. Within the court, those of lower rank would not dare make requests of me, so I was freed from the duty of deciding whether to grant their pleas. But when it came to my family and their expectations, their decrees… whatever they wanted me to do, I did, as a matter of course. Be quiet, be submissive, be docile, be— “No,” I said again, rejecting the thought while testing the word in my mind and liking the way it felt when I said it. “No.”

That’s all it took, just one little word—but such a revolutionary one—to set me on the road to rebellion; to get my feet moving. To where? I didn’t know. The stupid veil was in place, making it impossible for me to see where I was going, as I stepped away from my mother, I realised suddenly that it didn’t matter. The moment I made the decision, I wanted nothing more than to get as far away from the throne room as possible as fast as I could. As I turned on my heel and walked away, I found myself picking up the pace, walking faster and faster. Before I knew it, I was running—another form of rebellion. Ladies didn’t run. It made you red-faced and, worse, perspire like a scullery maid.

But I didn’t care.

As I ran, my body felt long and lean, as if I was a wild animal, a deer. My muscles moved in ways I'd never used them before. Just like a deer, my instincts pushed me to run from danger, not towards it. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, pushing me along one corridor after another, enabling me to keep going when I sometimes took a corner too fast and slammed into walls, my hands slapping down on the wallpaper to right my course.

There was a reason why ladies were exhorted to merely glide everywhere at a restrained pace. Lungs that should’ve been filled with air were constrained by the whalebones of my corset. Muscles that should’ve been trained since childhood to engage in this kind of exertion had instead been forced to be lax and weak, like a calf raised to be killed for veal. As I struggled to draw breath, my vision darkened around the edges, and the thought crossed my mind that because I was tender and soft, I would be gobbled up by the King of Khean. I staggered sideways, stumbling against the wall and grabbing at it with one hand to try to stop myself from falling as I bent over, desperately trying to pull more air into my lungs.

I didn’t want to ruin all of Rachael’s hard work, but I needed air. I pulled desperately at the neckline of my dress, tearing the over-stitching as pearls popped free and rolled across the floor out of sight, but it wasn’t enough. I was wheezing, trying to suck in breaths with my entire body, but still my lungs burned. Leaning my shoulder into the wall, I brought both hands up to wrench at the fabric, tearing the seams so that the bodice tore in two, but as I ripped the beautiful satin away from my body, I found that only brought tears, not relief.

The great heaving sobs that wracked my body only served to clog my nose and throat. My sorrow and pain were not just for the dress I was ruining. Rachael must have been working on the gown for months, but I had to pull it apart in an attempt to breathe: a simple act that anyone else might take for granted. Because despite all of Rachael’s hard work, the dress was choking the breath from me—doing the King of Khean’s dirty work before he’d even had a chance to bed me. Buttons popped free and the gown fell from me like I was sloughing off a cocoon. I was no butterfly slowly unfurling my wings to display my new look. Instead, the whole world went dizzyingly dark as I swooned, a malformed caterpillar still trapped in my corset as I collapsed against the wall.

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