Epilogue

one.

This is the hardest story
That I've ever told
- Mika | Happy Ending

-

Introductions are designed to cover little more than the most basic of details, and are often dull, dreary things. I can only hope that you do not have any expectations in mind, because I would hate to disappoint you so soon.

You must remember, though, that it is never too late to abandon this tale. It will make things much easier for the both of us, and I most certainly will not miss you. With that said, let us begin:

The newly-married prince and princess of Garuay were quite a glamorous couple.

Lady Marisa Auden, not yet accustomed to her husband's surname, was startlingly beautiful. It was near impossible to ignore her when she stepped into a room, for she had sharply sculpted features and a softly tanned complexion, framed by silky straight hair that teetered on the edge of coffee and cinnamon. Her eyes were a captivating shade of hazel, seeming almost to sparkle when she smiled. And her smile itself was nothing short of charming, complete with dimples and brimming with emotion.

The prince was equally striking, as a prince should be. His name was Darion – not Charming, as you may have assumed, for Charming belonged to the neighbouring kingdom of Blagden, and had been recently exiled for treason. But Darion was well-loved by his people and a pride to his father, from whom he had inherited his deep blue eyes and fierce courage. His platinum blond hair, though, was clearly a hereditary trait from his mother, for it was a recognized fact that Queen Frandeline had immaculate silvery-blonde tresses. Along with perfect manners and an even temper, he was a fine example of a young gentleman.

So it was a shame, really, that the prince was caught with his arms around a pretty, amethyst-eyed faery, pressing her against the wall as she trailed her lips down his neck.

Marisa had caught only glimpses of faeries before, as they'd flitted past with their tinkling laughter and sparkles of magic.

But even then they had never failed to take her breath away. They are, after all, gorgeous creatures. They can look alluring and mysterious with the smallest of efforts, and are capable of casting powerful charms with barely a visible movement

Even all their assets combined, though, do not make up for their selfish, spiteful characters. They regard mortals as no more than playthings, scorning their lack of magic. Their interaction with other beings – the way they take pleasure in teasing and hurting – can at best be described as sadistic.

And as this particular faery untangled herself from Darion, her movements flowing like liquid, Marisa could see that she was as venomous as the stereotypes suggested.

"Marisa, is it?" The faery regarded her with scrutinising expression, head cocked in a dainty tilt.

Darion's response to her presence was hardly as smooth. He fumbled to straighten his shirt, tongue tripping over an awkward attempt at explanation. "Marisa! I— I didn't— mean to…" He hesitated, cursing softly under his breath as he searched for something more to say. "This isn't—"

He reached out to brush her cheek in reassurance, but Marisa flinched from his touch. "I would have preferred an apology over denial." Her voice was surprisingly steady, even as she took a step backwards.

"I swear I love you," he whispered hoarsely in reply. "And I'm so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

"I don't believe you."

"I'm not lying. I swear it, I'm not—"

"You're right, Darion," interrupted the faery blithely. "She is very pretty."

Marisa froze at the remark, watching tensely as the faerie continued.

"Let me introduce myself, Marisa. My name's Tessa. Your darling prince fell in love with me easily, because both of you are so very pretty and stupid. I can assure you, though," she added, snapping her fingers to silence Darion's protests, "that I'm much prettier than you'll ever be."

Before her mind had registered the malice in those words, or the smirk on the darkly red lips, Marisa felt her senses numbing. From there, it took less than a moment for her to lose all consciousness together, and fall straight into the clutch of darkness.

-

When she awoke, the first thing Marisa noted was her aching right wrist. The temptation of sleep weighed down her eyelids, but it was no match for the throbbing wrist when the dull pain became insistent. Blearily sitting up, she leaned forward for a closer inspection.

A gash ran along her arm, already appearing to be half-healed, but blood from the wound had leaked, causing red rivulets to run over otherwise unharmed skin. She cried out in horror, recoiling at the sight.

Perhaps it was a combination of fate and luck that kept the innkeeper downstairs from hearing her scream and landing her forcibly on the stretch of dirt outside his inn door. Or perhaps it was simply due to the fact that his hearing had deteriorated over the years, leaving him with a mild case of deafness.

"You might want to keep it down, lady," remarked a voice, "People will think I'm slaughtering you if you keep yelling like that. I don't think the cut was quite that bad."

The unfamiliarity of the voice caused Marisa to forget her wrist for a moment and stiffen with suspicion. She looked around the shabbily furnished room, eyes narrowing at the broken tables and stained curtains.

In one corner, a figure sat lazily on a crooked wooden chair, leaning against the pane of it.

"And who would you be?" she asked, wary.

"Would it kill you to be a little friendlier?" laughed the voice, as its owner stood up and came into view. "I'm Liam."

"Liam," she repeated, relaxing slightly as her eyes scanned his friendly expression. "And where exactly am I, Liam?"

"You're at Millers', the finest inn around these parts."

"Finest?" she echoed incredulously, with another glance around the room.

Liam shrugged. "There's room for improvement, I guess, but it's a local favourite."

A twinge in her arm stopped Marisa from answering, and she hissed in pain. Sighing, Liam stepped forward to pick up a roll of bandages and a wet rag from the bedside table.

"Here," he said, handing it to her.

She stared at the roll, before looking up at him. "Excuse me?"

"They're bandages. They'll stem the blood flow."

When she made no motion to take it from him, Liam shook his head resignedly. "You're hopeless," he muttered. Kneeling beside her, he grabbed her arm and dabbed at it with rag. Ignoring her winces, he then unrolled the bandages and wound them tightly around her arm.

"There. That should hold for a few days. Oh, and no need to thank me," he added when she remained silent. "It's all part of the service."

"Thank you," she mumbled quietly, sheepish.

Liam grinned. "No problem. All I ask for in return is the reason why you were lying on the street yesterday. And a name would be nice, too."

"Lady Marisa Auden," she answered, immediately. The words came to her lips life a reflex, startling her with their speed and smoothness. "And I was… attacked."

"Woah there," Liam exclaimed. "Marisa? With such a pretty face, aren't you scared you'll be mistaken for her?"

"I- I'm sorry — mistaken for who?"

Liam looked startled. "You haven't heard? But it's massive news — everyone's looking for Her Royal Highness. I'm guessing you were probably unconscious when the announcement came around."

"I am Her Royal Highness. Lady Marisa Auden," she repeated, realising why Liam might not have understood. "Auden is my maiden name."

Liam's eyes widened. "Well then, M'lady, I'm afraid you're in quite some strife."

Marisa watched as his expression turned grim, expecting the worst. But I, for one, doubt that all the preparation in the world could have readied her for his next words.

"Because if you really are her Royal Highness, you're wanted for murder."

This is currently being revamped, so bear with me. The next chapter is currently in progress.