Vivid sunshine shines over the gate of the city, painting it in a warm glow, the like of which seems unusually rare these days at the end of the bitter season, in which most days somehow still manage to stay gray and loveless, given that a fresh spring has yet to break through the still standing walls of winter. All around the city, people are streaming and running around as word is spread from eager mouth to eager ear. Heads pop out of windows, bodies run out of doors as storekeepers close their shops early, and families pull their children away from their familial trades. The city seems to be fully alive from every angle as word spreads from street to street and door to door of the arrival of the third princess of the nation.
This is an unusually rare event for this backwater city. The Baron, now deceased, was the highest ranking noble received here for quite some time — as far as they all know — and even he seemed so insurmountably distant for the everyman. But a princess of the royal family coming to a place like this?
It’s unheard of. It’s an event the people who live in such a city as this have never even heard their father’s fathers speak of during their lamentations of better days.
All around the gate, the market place is swarmed by bodies that the city guards do their best to repel, pushing them back and away from the path that has been cleared — not so much for the sake of the princess who is contained inside, but for the safety of the people. Elite royal guardsmen file along the carriage in procession, armored in exotic plate and parade armor, carrying long halberds of rare metal in their hands and short swords of unknown make on their hips. Presumably, they have permission to use them freely on anyone who gets too close to the carriage.
“PRINCESS!” screams a woman over the excited crowd, which is quite a feat given their volume and energy. She raises her arms over her head, waving and jumping.
“Stay back!” calls the city guardsman, holding his arms out to push back against her and the rest of the crowd that wants to get closer to the regal, white carriage with beautiful gold trimmings adorned with dark azure lapis lazuli that glimmers in the rare sunlight, sending waves of warm blue out in all directions onto the road below the carriage, almost giving it the impression of being a vessel at sea. The people fight and push to look inside the fabric covered windows. He braces himself, doing his best to withstand the weight of the crowd together with the other guardsmen, who are simply overwhelmed with these numbers. “Get back!” yells the guard, snagging the back of a boy’s shirt who had snuck under his arm for a moment. He rips the boy back away from the marching royal soldiers, of which there are hundreds filing in after the procession in file. “HEY!” he yells, his eyes going wide as a group of other children — the first boy’s friends, presumably — use the opportunity to break through past him. A group of them run down the street past the royal guards and alongside the side of the royal carriage, waving and jumping next to its massive wheels and laughing excitedly at one another. Thousands of people line the street, the road just barely being kept free through sheer force of will by the city guard, who are vastly outnumbered by the crowd that is abuzz with an energy never seen before in this place.
“STOP!” yells a guard, grabbing one of the children who lets out a yelp at being caught. He inadvertently kicks his friend as he’s tugged back, who then stumbles and pushes over another one of the others in the group, causing him to fall down, his arm thunking against the carriage.
Immediately, it all stops.
The royal guards all stand perfectly still and silent as the carriage, which was moving at a leisurely tempo, now comes to a standstill. The guards all pull back, the children running away, leaving behind the one who had fallen down onto the street.
The screaming and cheering falls eerily quiet, very quickly, as it seems to travel from one person to the next like a sickness. Those in the back don’t really know why, but they also fall quiet as the description of the event is passed along.
The crowd seems to press itself back now, as the single dull thud seems to have returned some memories to those in the crowd — memories of stories about the difference between people like them and those of noble blood, memories of the freshly excavated bodies brought from the now deceased Baron’s residence.
The boy, pushing himself upright, looks around himself for a moment from the middle of the street.
At once, a hundred metal clad boots stomp the ground as the royal soldiers hold their halberds in salute as the door to the white-golden carriage swings open.
“Oh…” says a voice from inside the carriage, softly spoken, that seems to carry unusually far by itself, as if the words were somehow lighter than those spoken by anyone else. The crowd pulls back, compressing itself together as everyone tries to take a step back at once but is unable to because of how tightly they’ve all already pushed themselves forward.
And then something changes in the crowd, as from the carriage emerges something they’ve all never seen before, something inhuman and strange, something so far and different from everything they’ve ever known, that every man and woman looks quietly lost — as if their minds couldn’t really figure out what they were looking at.
Radiance.
It comes in the shape of a human, in the clothes of a human, with exotic perfumes and colors that a human might adorn themselves with. But now, attached to this shape that it all comes with, it seems almost… unnatural. A face and body that seem almost inhuman in their health and perfection of posture, pose, and appearance look out of the carriage, staring around at the ground for a moment with an almost puzzled look, before she slowly turns her head down to look at the boy, who has frozen in fear down on the street. Long, soft, sleek hair like a deep silk the color of springtide hangs loosely over her shoulder, held together with several ties along one soft, half braid. It moves as she turns her head, flowing like flower petals in a gentle season and carrying the smell of such. “Oh…?” she mutters again. “Boy,” says the princess, speaking to him. “You mustn’t play near carriages!” scolds the princess. “It’s very dangerous!” she warns sternly, waving a finger at him and puffing out a cheek as she speaks.
He just sits there, as if stuck to the ground and unable to push himself up to his feet or even his knees. It’s as if he had frozen in terror, as if the weight of her presence, let alone her speaking to him, were crushing him by just being near her.
“Where are your friends?” she asks quietly, her eyes following the crowd and not seeing the shapes she’s looking for as her legs swing out one after the other. The soft fabric of an elegant dress, the make of which most here wouldn’t even be able to dream of wearing to their wedding day, flows out after her as, with one foot after the other, she steps out of the carriage and onto the street, which seems almost like a degradation for her, like a god fallen from heaven to touch a cursed world.
She bends down, holding out a hand. “…They ran away?” asks the woman.
Terrified, the boy somehow manages to fight through his trembling body to nod, even if only by a slight of an inch.
“Some friends, huh?” she asks, almost pouting as if being disappointed in his stead, since he is unable to show any emotion other than fear at the moment. Seeing that he isn’t able or going to move, she instead kneels down, grabs him herself, and helps him to his feet, smiling warmly. “That’s okay!” assures the entity, who is perhaps a person, although none here could ever really be sure, given the almost unnatural and superhuman warmth that beams out in all directions from the world since her arrival. “We can be friends instead,” she offers, nodding to him as she helps him up and then looks around at the crowd, as if realizing that they were there at all and not just a static entity like a wall or a house. Hundreds, thousands of faces try to view her way, watching the situation and wondering if the boy was about to be made a harsh example of.
“Oh…” she says, as if realizing her own absentmindedness. She stands there idly for a moment and then lifts her arm up high, waving. “Hello everyone!” she greets excitedly, rising up to the tips of her toes as she tries to wave to the people in the back too. Seeing that this won’t do to make herself visible, the gleam in her eye hints that she already has a plan. Quickly, the princess tugs the boy after her, climbing up past the coachman, who doesn’t move a single inch, up to the roof of the carriage, where she stands, waving an arm wildly out to the crowd. “HELLO!” she yells, trying to let her words reach those in the back too.
“PRINCESS!” screams a woman again as the crowd roars out their love for her, which has been immediately won and decided on the spot for just about all of them as they stare at her, standing up atop the carriage and waving their way. The crowd cheers, with people screaming and jumping around excitedly as she laughs and waves to them.
“What’s your name?” she asks, looking down at him after a moment.
“F… f… Fenchel,” stutters out the local boy, whose face is as pale as the last of the melting winter’s snow, which seems to retreat in the presence of the carriage, melting and flowing down gutters and drains like monsters fleeing the light of a new day. Only the deep red of his cheeks and his eyes that never blink and his very sweaty hand indicate that a heart is striking almost feverishly in his chest, the same as they do in a thousand and then some bodies all around the marketplace.
She smiles, nodding to him. “Okay!” says the princess, with a sure nod as she holds his hand to make sure he doesn’t fall, as the carriage keeps moving down the street now with her standing on top of it. “THIS IS MY NEW FRIEND, FENCHEL!” she shouts eagerly into the crowd, as the boy, now finding some courage that seems to almost be flowing into his arm through her hand, begins to wave to everyone as the procession continues.
“Can you use magic, Fenchel?” she asks.
“A… a little,” replies the boy, standing taller as she looks down at him.
“Okay. Help me out, please?” she asks, making a fist excitedly and leaning his way.
He clenches his eyes together. “I WILL!” yells the boy, losing control of his voice as she gets closer.
The princess nods. “Just push a little of your magic through your hand, okay?” she asks. “Only a little. Ready?” she asks, and he nods.
She turns around, waving to the crowd on the other side of the street.
“I LOVE YOU, PRINCESS!” calls a random man out from the street.
She gasps, and then lifts her free hand to the sky. “I love you all!” says the princess, as her hand shines alight with a glow, carrying the shine of an endless number of good days in itself. A streak of light flows out of her, not like a violent blast or a stream, but more like a thread that is being pulled along an arc by a gentle seamstress, weaving in and out as it forms a shape in the sky above all of their heads, a series of words.
‘From Manchineel Odofredus Krone to my new friends!’
The words pulsate for a moment, wobbling around in the wind like an inflated slime, and then they burst, popping with force.
And all around the market square, it rains down flower petals of shades never seen before in this city, fabric packages of sweets and candies, small bundles of coins and jewels, and luxuriously soft shawls of exotic fabrics from distant lands. The royal guards disperse from the carriage for the most part, moving in through the city and handing out other such treasures to all of those who are too weak, small, or slow to collect any of the falling things, so that nobody — not even the smallest or sicket — misses out on a treasure from her.
She smiles warmly, watching them enjoy themselves, before looking down at the boy next to her atop the carriage for a moment. She hushes her own mouth with one finger. “Don’t tell them; they’ll get jealous,” she explains. “- But you’re my best friend, though!” says the third princess, Manchineel Odofredus Krone, with a smile, winking.
From the safe darkness of the half-far-away distance, Acacia stares down the street with a cold look the likes of which only the reaper of souls himself has ever come to see, as it is the same look that a husk of a body carries with itself after its essence has been taken to death as she watches the people cheer and walk after the carriage, carrying in their eyes and hearts expressions of hope and joy that nothing in this life has brought many of them in such a long time — all brought along just by the sheer presence of her.
“So… uh…” says Sir Knight’s voice next to her as his armor rattles. “What’s the axe for again?” asks the giant, holding a large battleaxe over his shoulder and watching as the new-comer princess climbs down from the carriage, running over to a mother holding a newborn excitedly to kiss it on the forehead and offer her blessing to the family.
“It’s for me,” replies Acacia in a truly loveless tone as she stares upwardly from her downed head, glaring at the distant woman on the street, who almost seems to be glowing with heavenly love. The youngest princess runs a finger along the back of her own neck. “Right here. Make it quick, okay?” she says, sounding almost serious. “Just take it off.”
Sir Knight looks back at the parade, deciding it would be best not to behead Acacia. “She seems like a likeable person,” he mutters. “Wait,” he starts, looking down at Acacia and realizing something. “Do you just not like her because she’s the popular one?”
“No, Sir Knight,” replies Acacia venomously as they look out of the alleyway together, covered in the darkness of shadow. “I hate my older sister because of who she is at a deep, core, base level.”
And that sentence, that explanation, might not have found its way coherently through the mess of screams and chanting of the princess’ name and cries of adoration for her, but somehow the sound of the voice that spoke it — or at least the presence of such a person — is noticed by the princess in the street, who turns her head and stops. Her large hyacinth eyes that scream of softness and goodness look past a hundred people, and then a hundred more as they move over body and face until they reach her.
“…Fuck…” swears Acacia, marking a very special occasion as this is not something she ever really does. He supposes she’s been hanging out with too many adventurers these days. Despite her best efforts, she’s losing more and more of her princessishness.
The royal princess Manchineel screams, holding her hands against her cheeks, as she runs into the crowd. The royal guards are feverishly running after her as she charges through a mass of a hundred people trying to get her attention and comes out on the other side, flying through the air.
Sir Knight leans against the wall and watches as one princess dives like a leaping predator, catching the other in its grasp, and the two of them fall to the ground. Manchineel kicks, laughs, and hugs her. “ACACIAAA!” screams the older princess, rolling around like a bandit wrestling a merchant’s pig on a dirt road as the royal guards finally catch up to her, holding the crowd back as she rises to her feet together with her younger sister, with Acacia having essentially vanished, being absorbed into the dress and body of her older, larger, and much more strongly developed sibling.
“Everyone!” yells the older princess excitedly, trying to get the crowd’s attention despite clearly already having it. “— This is my little sister!” she exclaims, presenting Acacia to them all almost as excitedly as she had shown them the strange boy from a few minutes ago.
And then the crowd falls strangely half-silent again, looking at the two of them as they stand there excitedly, surrounded by royal guards. Most of them already know Acacia, at least by sight. But many of them know her from her work as an adventurer or as a student of the academy — the realization of her real royal title becomes clearer and clearer by the second as they look at Acacia, and then over to Sir Knight. He stands behind them, in the shadows, leaning back against the wall and towering over the men in golden armor. Perhaps some of them consider their past behavior against her in that moment.
The many pale faces of adventurers from the guild or the dungeon, the shopkeepers of the city, and even a few lecturers from the academy certainly hint as much. He’s just sad that Acacia can’t bask in the sight of them.
Oh well.
Acacia had wanted to make her reveal to the public anyway, so this works out. Although it wasn’t exactly as expected.
Manchineel laughs and squeezes Acacia, dragging her back to the carriage through the tunnel the royal guards are making. The youngest princess looks back, distraught, toward him as he stays behind in the dark alleyway. As if to make a point, she taps the side of her neck again, a hopeless look on her face as she pleads for his mercy.
But he shakes his head, stowing the large axe away, as he steps back deeper and away from the light of the day, melding into the shadows and melting away into shapelessness that flows through the streets like a liquid, moving through a thousand weaving legs until it reaches Acacia, where it crawls away and hides within her boot as she is dragged toward the royal carriage.
