FictionPress.com - let the words flow| FictionPress.com - let the words flow |
| Home Just In Communities Forums Beta Readers Dictionary Search | Login Register Extras |
This is the first original fic I've posted online, I mostly use I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1
She picked up the tiny hand mirror with slim, delicate fingers, running her perfectly manicured nails over the intricately woven silver handle. It was a perfectly made mirror, just like the reflection in it. She set it back down on the wooden chest, resisting the strong temptation to fling it across the room, and next picked up a lavender gown that billowed out silkily from where she held it.
As she gazed lovingly at it, there was a timid knock at her door. She hastily set it back down and patted her perfect black curls to make sure none had gone astray.
“Come in,” she called in her soft, majestic voice. A maid edged her way into the room, carrying a pile of cloth.
“Lady, the cloth for the dress you’re to wear to the banquet has arrived,” she said respectfully.
Jenelle sharply shifted her gaze from the large mirror propped up on her chest to the maid with the cloth. “I beg your pardon?” she asked.
“The-the cloth, miss. The cloth his majesty purchased,” the unfortunate maid stammered.
“I was under the impression that I would wear this gown,” Jenelle said, once again picking up the soft, lavender gown and looking down her nose at the pile of blue material the maid was trying to hide behind.
“That gown is indeed much more splendid than any gown made with this could be,” the maid managed to say.
Jenelle smiled. “As I thought. Please inform my father that I will most certainly not be wearing that to any banquet where my marriage will be discussed. Who knows what old hag they would put me with if I showed up in blue?” she said, her eyes challenging. The maid chuckled dutifully.
“Oh no, milady, you would look magnificent in anything you wore, all the handsome men would flock to you,” she said.
Jenelle smiled graciously. “Oh, you flatter me too much, please, attend to the material before I get a swelled head.” The maid backed out of the room, bowing and assuring her it would be done.
As soon as the door was closed, the smile melted off Jenelle’s face. She returned her gaze back to the mirror and began tracing patterns along the thin crack on the wall behind it.
My marriage, she thought with a sarcastic smile that was more of a sneer. Why can’t I choose who I marry? Then she thought about this. I suppose I can choose; but only from the choices they give me. Though every eligible man in Rilan wants my hand in marriage. But which one do I want? I’m sure they’ll tell me who I’m in love with by this banquet or the next. She chuckled darkly to herself.
Ever since her 16th birthday two months ago, Jenelle’s marriage had been the talk of the town. That was the day her father had banned her from all things he didn’t think were proper for a lady to be doing; things like horseback riding, drinking coffee, and practicing her skills with weaponry. That was what she missed most. Frankie, the stable hand, had been teaching her swordplay, archery, and knife skills ever since he had come to work for them three years before. He said she had a natural talent, though after three years she still could never beat him. You’d think being a royal heiress would gain her some advantage, like maybe he could let her win once in awhile. But no, Frankie was the only person who seemed to enjoy taunting her and beating her. No one else would have dared. Jenelle sighed. All this thinking about what she couldn’t do was making her restless. She got up and paced for awhile and finally decided to visit Frankie.
Other worlds. Magic. Kings and queens. He didn’t know any of it! He was American, for g0d’s sake! There were no kings or queens or magic. And the other world was so confusing. How was he to know which word meant which? They should put dictionaries in those things!
He lifted his head up a crack and gingerly moved his hand to pick up the book and try again. He opened it up to where he had left off on page four, reading as though he had some idea of what was happening. By the middle of page five, he was back to wanting to yank his hair out. He slammed the book back down, scowled, turned off his desk lamp, and hurled himself into bed. He pulled his sweatshirt off over his head and burrowed under the quilt. Closing his eyes, he managed to fall into a calming sleep.
“Oh, you know, the usual,” Jenelle replied airily, sitting on the fence, letting her heels dangle.
Frankie grinned. “‘The usual?’ They still talkin bout your marriage, then?”
Jenelle grimaced. “Thank you for reminding me. Actually, I came to you to try and forget about it for awhile,” she said.
“Ah. Well, just give me a few more minutes and we can go practice shooting,” Frankie said with a positively evil grin.
Jenelle sighed wistfully. “I really wish I could, Frankie, but if father finds out, I’ll be confined to the castle until I’m married,” she said. Frankie smiled sympathetically at her.
He was handsome in a rough sort of way. Only about five or six years older than her, he had shaggy brown hair, brown eyes and a muscular build.
He finished brushing the mare he was grooming and patted its side lightly before wiping his hands off and putting everything away. He opened his mouth to speak, and then they both heard something crack. Jenelle immediately pricked her ears and drew herself higher.
“What was that?” she demanded of no one.
Suddenly, someone who wasn’t quite yet a man but was definitely not a boy stumbled out from behind one of the stalls. He wasn’t wearing much.
“Who are you?” Jenelle snapped regally at him. He looked at her.
“I’m Jon,” he said, grinning in the most inviting way he knew how, his hand automatically flying to his hair.
Jenelle curled her lip in disgust. “How dare you talk to me like that! Frankie, remove him!” she ordered.
Jon’s confident look crumbled. “What? Wait, you can’t do this! I’m innocent!” he said, trying to fight off the bulky man who was dragging him forcefully away.
Jenelle laughed derisively. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do since you can’t even seem to afford proper clothing,” she said.
Jon looked down at what most girls would kill to see him wearing. “This is proper clothing,” he lied.
“You’re half naked. Frankie, find his some clothes,” Jenelle said.
“Yes, princess,” Frankie said.
“And stop calling me princess!” Jenelle said, grinning in spite of herself.
“No, princess,” Frankie replied, eyes sparkling maliciously. Jenelle stuck her nose in the air.
“Wait, you’re a princess?” Jon asked, forgetting to struggle for a moment.
Jenelle sneered. “Are you an incredibly dim peasant? You knew I was the princess, everyone in Rilan knows who I am, don’t play dumb,” she said.
“What’s Rye-Lahn?” Jon asked, sounding it out and feeling incredibly stupid.
Jenelle stared at him. “You are an incredibly dim peasant. Rilan is the country you live in, the one I will rule someday,” she said, staring disdainfully down her nose at him.
“I don’t live anywhere named Rilan. I live in America,” Jon said.
“America,” Jenelle said as though tasting the word. “I’ve never heard of this place you call ‘America’. Is it across the sea?”
Jon gaped. Everyone had heard of America. “No, we’re in America,” he said.
“No, I’ve told you, we’re in Rilan,” Jenelle said. Jon grew incredibly cold. “Let him go, Frankie,” Jenelle said quietly, studying Jon’s face intently.
As Frankie let go, he cocked his head to something.
Jon slid to the floor, unable to hold himself up any longer. How did I get here? What’s Rilan? Why isn’t the princess giggling like mad and trying to impress me? How do I get home? As all these thoughts ran through Jon’s head, something clicked. It was just when Frankie said, “You’re wanted up at the palace,” that Jon realized that he must be dreaming. Otherwise, he would not be in the place he had just been reading about.
“I am not wearing it!” she cried rather loudly, pointing to the pile.
“Why not?” the king asked.
“It’s horrid! And you had the purple dress made for the banquet. I want to wear that!” Jenelle said.
“It’s not horrid!” her father roared.
Jenelle was a bit subdued, but kept her head high. “It will look horrid on me and I refuse to wear it,” Jenelle stated.
“You’ll wear it if I tell you to!” the king bellowed
“I won’t!” Jenelle said defiantly.
“You stupid girl, you’ll wear what I see fit for you to wear!” he shouted.
“You had the lavender one made for this banquet! You promised me I could wear it!” Jenelle hollered, matching her father’s volume.
What happened next happened so quickly, Jenelle wasn’t actually sure what had happened until she raised a hand to her stinging cheek. She watched her father lower his hand.
“Alright, I said you may wear it, and you may wear it. If no one dances with you, I won’t discuss your marriage with you until your wedding day,” he said, back behind his calm facade.
Jenelle haughtily swept out of the room and made it all the way to her own suite before bursting into tears.
“Come on, man, get up,” Frankie said to Jon once Jenelle had raced off. Jon looked up.
“Where am I?” he asked slowly.
“You are in Rilan. What did you say your name was again?” Frankie asked.
“Jon, and I’m not from anywhere named Rilan,” Jon said.
“Were you raised in the wild?” Frankie asked.
“The wild? No! My parents are rich!” Jon replied indignantly.
“You don’t look it,” Frankie muttered.
“Yeah, well, you don’t look rich either,” Jon retorted.
“I’m not,” Frankie said simply. Jon had nothing to say to that, so he went back to examining the stable floor. After a minute, Frankie said, “Come on, we need to get you something to wear before the princess gets back.”
Jon looked at him. “If it looks anything like what you’re wearing, I’ll stay in my boxers, thanks,” he said, smirking.
“Boxers?” Frankie repeated, looking confused.
“Yeah, the underwear I’m wearing,” Jon said.
“Well, the princess won’t like it that you’re in your underwear,” Frankie said and hauled Jon up. Jon stumbled a little as he got his balance.
“What the princess’s problem anyway?” he asked as he was forced into a pair of tan canvas pants and a white shirt. He found he rather liked the effect the clothes had on showing off his body, even if they were a bit unstylish.
“Miss Jenelle? She doesn’t have a problem. She’s a princess and you were half naked in her barn,” Frankie answered.
“Jenelle. Is that her name?” Jon asked.
“Yes. Miss Jenelle is the heiress to the throne. She has a banquet in three days to help them decide who she marries,” Frankie said.
“Marries? She can’t be more than 18!” Jon exclaimed, shocked.
“Sixteen, actually. But that’s normal marrying age at the palace, most people marry younger than that,” Frankie answered. Jon tried to hide the repulsed look on his face.
Just then, Jenelle came stalking gracefully back into the stables. There was no evidence that she had been crying. Her curls were immaculately set, her face was perfectly smooth, and her eyes weren’t the least bit red. “Good. You’re dressed. Frankie, did you question him?” she inquired.
“Nope. I left that to you,” Frankie said.
Jenelle arched one perfect eyebrow. “Very well. Follow me, peasant,” she said, beckoning with her finger and turning on her heel.
Jon eagerly followed the beautiful girl, unbuttoning his shirt to show off his muscles. Then, he caught a meaningful glance from Frankie as he was walking out and hastily buttoned it back up.
He followed the lovely Jenelle into the palace and into a parlor where she calmly ordered a maid to bring tea and graciously thanked her and gave her a bit of silver when she brought it back with a tray of some pastries and colorful spreads.
Jenelle sat down primly in her chair and poured herself a cup of tea. “So. Your full name,” she said in a cultured court voice.
“Jonathan,” he said.
“Jonathan,” she repeated slowly.
“But everyone calls me Jon,” he added hastily.
“Jonathan,” she said again as though he had said nothing.
Jon didn’t know what to do, so he looked around.
“No surname?” she asked, mildly, sipping her tea. She even made that action more graceful than anything Jon thought he had ever seen.
Jon looked up. “Uh, surname?” he asked.
“Yes, you know, surname. The name after your first name,” Jenelle said.
The air around her seemed to imply that she thought he was dense, but her tone never changed from the cultured court voice.
“Oh, you mean my last name?” Jon asked, relieved.
“Is that what peasants call it?” she asked lightly, sounding mildly interested. The air again told Jon what she thought of him.
“No, um, sorry, it’s just, uh, well, my last name, ah, surname, is Comeau,” he said.
“Co-mu,”Jenelle said, the same way she had said America.
“Uh, yeah,” Jon said. “How did you come to the palace, sir Comeau?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I was reading and then I fell asleep and then I woke up here,” Jon said. It sounded stupid even as he said it, but it was true.
Jenelle nodded. “Jonathan Comeau. Come with me,” she said, standing up in one graceful, fluid movement. Jon nearly knocked over his chair in his haste to follow her. He thought she might be leading him to someone with more authority, but she led him up two flights of stairs to a hallway with a few doors. Another parlor, no doubt, Jon thought. But when she opened the solid oak door with the golden knob, he knew it was no parlor. There was a large bed with a crimson canopy and an oak chest of drawers with a beautiful mirror resting on it. There was a folding panel in the corner of the room and a closet full of marvelous gowns. Jon knew at once that he was in the princess’s room. He quietly closed the door behind him as he followed her in.
She walked over to the mirror and traced the wall with one slender finger. He saw her slot her fingernail in a minuscule crack and whisper something, then a whole panel in the wall swung open, revealing a small safe. Jon gasped. Jenelle whispered something else and the lock sprung open. A pile of papers lay in the safe. Jon had expected something more magnificent, like jewels. The papers were a disappointment.
Jenelle took the pile and turned around to face him. She took a few seconds to gather her courage, then spoke, not in the cultured court voice, but in a timid, scared sort of voice.
“I’ve been having dreams,” she began. Jon was suddenly aware that she was two years younger than him. When Jon said nothing, she continued. “I don’t know what they mean, but Ameri- America keeps showing up in them. I hear poems. I’ve recorded all of them, here, read some.” She handed him the top one off the pile. Jon quickly scanned it.
He will show you the way,
you will find the sun.
You two lost souls
shall join together as one.
“And who said this?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Jenelle admitted.
“Well. It seems as though some foreigner is gonna come and help you. I don’t see how this concerns me,” Jon said, handing her the paper.
Jenelle glared at him. “I’ve told you, many of them mention America. I didn’t know what it was until now,” she said.
“Oh. Well, maybe an American’s going to come and marry you,” Jon said.
She looked pointedly at him, and he suddenly realized what he had just said.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute. I’m not the guy it’s talking about,” he said, backing up.
“Oh really? Well, the next time I see an American in Rilan, I’ll inform you,” she said. She had abandoned the court voice altogether and Jon could clearly tell what she was thinking every time now.
“That is so not me,” he said, nervousness putting a squeaky edge to his deep voice.
“You don’t want to marry me?” she asked, returning to the court voice.
“Jenelle, you’re hot, but I just met you and I have a girlfriend,” Jon said.
“‘Hot’?” she asked, confused. Jon blushed. He hadn’t counted on her not knowing what he meant.
“You’re making me sweat,” he offered as a vague explanation.
“Are you warm? It’s cold in here,” Jenelle said.
“No, I’m not ‘warm’, hot is another word for gorgeous only a bit more, ah, different,” Jon said.
“Oh. Different? How so?” she inquired with one eyebrow raised.
“It’s just- different,” Jon said.
“Tell me,” Jenelle said.
“I can’t really explain it,” Jon said, feeling uncomfortable.
“Try,” Jenelle ordered in her court voice. Jon thought for a minute about how best to put it, then finally decided that actions would speak louder than words. He cupped his hands under his chest and made an upward motion as though juggling.
Jenelle’s forehead crinkled into a frown.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
Jon made an exasperated sound. “It means you have a nice body,” he said rather loudly.
Jenelle looked down at herself. “Oh,” she said and blushed.
“Well, um . . .” Jon trailed off.
“I’ll inform one of the maids that a room needs to be set up for you on the guest’s floor. In the meantime, you can help out the knights, running errands and such,” Jenelle said, back to being the royal one.
“Uh, sure. Ok,” Jon said, running his fingers through his hair.
As Jenelle swept past him she whispered, “It said nothing about marriage, by the way.”
Jon stared after her for a minute before his brain remembered that he had no idea how to get around the palace.
Matt: What?
Tera: We dont have to do a disclaimer for original fiction! YAY!
Matt: Um . . .right.
Tera: Don't mind him. He's a loser. Anyway, please review, I hope you liked!
