Princess Ophelia's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Six days later, Ophelia found her father in the library. He stood among her shelves, touching the spines of her books. He drew one out and turned it in his hands. She recognized the cover. It was her favorite love story. "Love stories," King Alaric said. He did not look up. "You read a great many of these." Ophelia sat in the chair by the window. She said nothing. She did not understand why he had come. "Your mother and I were an arranged marriage," the king said. He set the book down and finally met her eyes. "I did not love her at first. I will tell you the truth of it. For a year I resented the whole affair." His voice dropped. "But Ophelia, I love her now. More than you can know." Ophelia held the book against her chest. Her father was proud and hard. She had never heard him speak this way. "I understand, Father," she said. And she nodded, though her throat felt tight. The king pulled a folded map from his robes. He spread it on the table. His finger traced a line where two kingdoms met. "This is why I called you here. The road to the prince's kingdom crosses the disputed border." He tapped a jagged mark. "Both sides keep armed men there. They stop travelers. They take what they want." He looked at her hard. "A princess riding alone would not reach the other side." Ophelia's stomach dropped. She had won the journey. Now she saw it could cost her life. "Then I will not ride alone," she said. "Send guards with me." "Guards in our colors would be a spark to that powder," the king said. "The border men would name it an invasion. The dispute is the very thing this wedding must end." Ophelia stood. She would not lose the journey now. She thought of the map, of the two watchful sides. An idea came. "Then I will not travel as a princess," she said. "Take off my colors. Take off my name. A merchant's daughter draws no soldiers." The king studied her. He picked up the love story again and pressed it into her hands. "You have your mother's stubbornness," he said. A faint smile crossed his beard. "Very well. You ride as a common traveler. No crest. No circlet in the open." Ophelia gripped the book. "And an escort dressed as merchants. Men who can fight but wear no colors." "Three," the king said. "No more, or you draw eyes." He set his hand on her shoulder. "Reach him. Learn his mind. That is all I can give you." Ophelia bowed her head. She had traded the safety of a royal train for a disguise and three plain men. At dawn she would ride toward a stranger with her name hidden and her circlet packed away.