PRINCESS KAMARAHenna stared at her princess in the carriage. Princess Kamara had her professional ‘princess look’ on her face: the haughty lift of her chin, a blank, unsmiling face, eyes straight ahead, mouth snapped together. A typical princess look.
But one thing about a personal maid’s relationship with her princess was that the personal maid knew her princess well, having been with her for so many years.
“Everything will be alright, my princess,” Henna tried to say in consolation.
“Stay away from me, Henna,” Princess Kamara snapped.
Henna watched the way her princess’s hands tightened on the beautiful silk and lace corset she was wearing. She had balled her hands into fists since their carriage entered the kingdom of Salem. They had only tightened as the journey progressed, and she wasn’t making any move to loosen her fisted fingers anytime soon.
Her hands will hurt by the time she finally loosened them, Henna thought sadly. Already, her hands are as white as a sheet. Henna took a deep breath in resignation and faced forward, keeping away from her princess as she was instructed.
It hurt her that her princess was unhappy. She hated seeing her unhappy.
Princess Kamara could only stare ahead. She reminded herself to blink occasionally, so that the traitorous tears that had been burning the back of her eyes wouldn’t blur her vision.
She didn’t want to be away from her kingdom.
She didn’t want to be making this journey.
She didn’t want to marry King Lucien.
She didn’t want to marry any king.
She didn’t want to rule over any kingdom.
She did not want to be here at all. She didn’t want any of this.
She’d cried and pleaded with her father, but her father could be a very stubborn man. All kings were.
She always knew that when he discovered her secret, he’d have her married off immediately. She’d always known, and that was why she had kept it a secret. But he’d found out, anyway. After six months, he found out about her love for a peasant.
Princess Kamara blinked hard. This tears better not make it down her cheek, or she’d be furious with herself.
No princess should ever have anything to do with a peasant. A princess should never fall in love with a peasant, a man with no royal blood in him. It was sacrilege. It should never be done.
She kept telling herself while she visited her peasant in secret and watched as Henna and her friend—who was an herbal woman—treated his injuries and nurse him back to health. She’d kept telling that to herself when Callan stared at her with his deep blue eyes while he laid on the bed. She told herself for six months whenever she visited him to check on his health.
She didn’t know when her heart stopped listening to her head—when her heart betrayed her. She didn’t know when she became obvious with her love for Callan—when she became so obvious that her father noticed.
It must have had something to do with when she became too happy. They did not consider her an outwardly happy person before. Not until she met Callan.
He’d sent the guards after her one day and discovered her secret. She closed her eyes tight to ward off more traitorous tears.
Keep strong, Kamara. You’re a princess. A strong princess does not cry in public. As she chided herself, her hate for one of her father’s mistresses surfaced.
Mistress Donna. She was the one that advised her father to marry her off after her secret was out. Her father had listened to the advice of his favourite mistress.
Oh, how she hated that mistress.
She had pleaded with her father, but he had already decided. The memory plagued her.
“Please, father, please!” she cried and pleaded with him, kneeling in his bedchambers.
“Stop pleading like a coward, Kamara. I didn’t raise you to be one,” he’d said to her with an angry scowl.
“I’ll stop loving him, I promise you. But p-please don’t marry me off. Don’t send me away, please. I’ll stop,” she’d cried, unable to help herself.
“I know you’ll stop loving him, Kamara. This is just a momentary madness, but I know it will stop when you marry a man and channel your love elsewhere.” King Valendy had turned away then. “You can stop loving him by loving your husband.”
“But Father!”
“Leave, Kamara. I will not change my mind,” he’d snapped at her.
Kamara accepted this courting week because she knew it would delay the wedding.
“We’re here, my princess.” Henna’s voice dragged her back to the present.
Princess Kamara discovered that the carriage had stopped moving. She looked through the small peephole of the window to see a huge, beautiful palace.
Indeed, they had arrived.
Princess Kamara finally unclenched her numb hands. She took a deep breath and reminded herself to never let a tear fall.
Her mother always told her that a strong princess did not cry in public.