Written for Woodland Writers’s 2000-word ROMANTASY writing challnege. The prompts were A PHOBIA IS EXPOSED, SOMEONE GOES MISSING, and UNCHARTED TERRITORY.
Result: Eliminated Round 2
✨This short story has inspired my third novel and current work-in-progress manuscript!✨
“What do you mean the princess is gone?”
Never in my life have I seen my father so angry. He looks as though he might pass out at any moment. I have a terrible vision of him collapsing to the floor, his heart at last failing him. What a mess that would be. A death on the day of a royal wedding must be a terrible omen — even more so if that death belongs to King Illidan Dawncrest, father of the bride.
He paces back and forth in my temporary bedchambers, voice cracking. “This is uncharted territory. The wedding begins in less than an hour!” He turns to me then, a glimmer of hope appearing in his bloodshot eyes. “Did your sister say anything to you?”
I clutch my hands to my chest. “No, father. Illienne said nothing.”
It isn’t technically a lie. For crushed within my closed fist is a crumpled slip of paper I found only moments before my father burst into the room. It was set delicately on my pillow, two perfectly scripted words written upon it: I’m sorry.
“Well, there’s nothing to be done about it,” he says, shaking his head as if in a daze.
I curtsey low. “Of course, Your Majesty. I will inform the Lightsinger’s steward that we regrettably must—”
“The alliance between the Nephalem and humankind must be secured. You will stand in her place, Arilayn.”
My heart stops beating. I stay bent in my curtsey. The muscles of my thighs begin to quiver. I cannot tell if it is from the effort of the sustained pose, or in absolute horror of the words my father just spoke. Me? Marry into the crown? Before I have a chance to respond, he cuts through the silence with a single command. His voice resonates with calloused kingliness:
“Maids, ready her. Prince Kiel is waiting.”
Deliberate footsteps strike the marble floor before the door to my bedchambers slams shut. There is a brief second where time freezes ; and for a moment, I wonder if perhaps I imagined it all.
Then, it begins.
The next thing I know, I am blinded with the fabric of my bridesmaid gown: a beautiful sky blue, picked to fade perfectly into the background of the Floating City. It’s abruptly replaced by an endless heap of white lace and delicate chiffon. As the palace’s maids tug it over my head, one of them begins speaking frantically. Her voice has a lovely lilt to it, sounding more like a song than any spoken language ought to.
“The ceremony will be very simple, Princess. It will take place on the topmost island of Skyhold. The guests have already arrived, but to my knowledge, none were informed of which Dawncrest sister His Highness would marry.”
She provides further instructions I can barely process. Once the dress is in place, the maids attack me with wide-toothed combs and red pins to match my fiery curls. It’s a good thing my sister and I have similar features; otherwise, I’m sure they would not have been prepared. These women all have hair like undyed silk: soft, fine, and various shades of pale. I assume it’s a trait of the people here. The Nephalem. The half-angels.
When they finish, I am set to stand in front of the full length mirror. My breath catches in my throat. The dress hangs loose on my body, hugging slightly at the waist and bust. Streams of sheer fabric fall from my hips and shoulders, looking more like heavy rain than skirts and sleeves. The front of the dress plummets down past my sternum, exposing the small tattoo I got the day I became of age: a little sun, right at my core, rays bursting outward. The maids’ eyes all drift to the design. One brave Nephalem steps forward, pinching at the fabric. “Someone get some thread. I’m sure we can—”
“Leave it.”
The words leave my lips before I’m even conscious of them. She takes a step back and bows low. “Of course, Highness.”
I allow my fingers to trail from my collarbone, down between my breasts, and settle on the ink. No one knows I have it — no one but the tattoo artist, and I paid handsomely for his silence. Even so, it is one of my favorite things in the entire world: simple, joyful, and irrevocably mine. My father would throw a fit if he knew of its existence; I like to think my mother would have delighted in it.
Now seems like an excellent time for its debut.
I look myself over one more time in the mirror. If only Mother could see me now.
“Alright,” I announce. “I’m ready.”
***
I am not sure what I expected when my maid told me of the ceremony’s location. Surely this rock is not considered an island of the Floating City. It is no more a geological fixture than an errant scrap of sea drift. Looking around at the swaying death traps they call “bridges,” I’m shocked I arrived here in one piece. I was certain I would die the moment my foot swayed on that first wooden slat. Yet despite the odds, here I stand: feet inches from sure death, and hands linked with the famed Prince Kiel Lightsinger.
His hair is the purest of white, with shimmers of silver running through it. It must have inspired the marble of the Nephalem palace; the resemblance is too precise to be coincidence. His eyes are silver, too, and crackle with the liveliness of a summer storm. His attire matches mine: a vest of sheer, cascading fabric, and tailored trousers detailed with lace.
A half-angel prince. He certainly looks the part.
“You ought to breathe, Princess. A royal death is a terrible way to start off our marriage.”
The wind is so strong, I’m sure no one else can hear him — not even the officiant, it seems, who continues reading some passage about the gods’ gift of the Nephalem to the earth. I squeeze my eyes and try desperately to cling to my consciousness. My hold is as tenuous as the swaying rope bridges.
“Surely you cannot be that frightened of me.” The prince’s voice is low, but dances with humor. “I assure you, the Nephalem retained all the glory of our angelic progenitors, and none of the eldritch horror.”
Still, my eyes remain shut. “Please, just…stop talking,” I mutter through gritted teeth.
I cannot see his face. Still, I can practically hear his frown. “Are the rumors of me truly so terrible?”
There are, in fact, rumors of the Sky Prince: too young, too beautiful, and too clever for his own good. If I am to believe everything that has been said of him, I am standing next to the most violent, kindhearted, lecherous, loyal man to have ever existed. Based on pure logic alone, I’m certain only half the rumors could be true; although I am left unsure of which ones.
“It’s not that.” I try for a deep breath, but my lungs fail me. My vision sparkles with little flashes of white light. “I am…uncomfortable with heights.”
The prince does not respond. Seconds pass. Then, suddenly, everything goes quiet. The winds that whipped my skirts and thundered in my ears die down into nothingness. I briefly consider if I did finally lose consciousness, and if I am already tumbling through the sky in a death-bound freefall.
Then, I hear him. His voice sounds much closer than it did before.
“Is this better?”
Tentatively, I open my eyes.
The prince is close. I can feel his breath caress my face, see the tiny shimmers of glitter that line his silver eyes. And surrounding us both, shielding us from all else, are his massive angelic wings. Their pearlescent feathers tickle my bare spine.
My lungs expand, and I stumble a bit, overcome by the rush of air and the smell of rose oil on his skin. His hands shift quickly to grasp my arms, wings tightening around us ever so slightly.
When he chuckles, it fills our little cocoon.
“You could have requested a different location for the ceremony, you know. Should I commend your bravery or scold your stubbornness?”
I am at least recovered enough to scowl at him. “I didn’t exactly plan to be here, Your Highness. I expected to be with the other guests, seated far away from any precarious ledges that threaten to drag me to a most gruesome death.”
A flash of confusion crosses his face. Then, understanding. He pulls his hands back slowly. “You are not the sister I was to marry.”
My scowl persists. This one, however, is meant for my sister, who is regrettably not here to see it. “No, I was not.”
Prince Kiel hmms thoughtfully. “I suppose it’s just as well: the alliance stands, and our fathers may continue to leverage their children as political currency.”
I narrow my gaze at him. “How very charming. Truly, it’s a wonder my sister fled before being bound to you for life.”
His eyes glimmer with something wicked, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. It’s an expression terribly ill-suited for the face of a half-angel. He inches closer to me, and I dare not shrink away — not with the ledge so close to my heels.
“Is it romance you wish for, Princess?” His hand moves to touch my jaw, the tips of his fingers brushing against the delicate skin behind my ear. His eyes travel down my body, lingering on the little sun emblazoned between my ribs. A flicker of something unrecognizable flashes in them. “Because I can give you that, if that’s what you want.”
All at once, I am too aware of every inch of fabric on my skin, and every breath of air that fills the space between us. I dare not inhale too deeply, lest my chest rise to press against his. I swallow, trying to clear the sudden dryness in my throat. “You can start by opening your wings, Prince, before you scandalize my father and our other guests. Then, I’d appreciate if you escorted me off this gods-forsaken rock.”
The Prince’s smirk widens to reveal a dazzling grin. It is both beautiful and frightening, for nothing good could ever come from a smile like that. “I can most certainly do that for you. Tell me, did the palace maids tell you how this ceremony ends?”
I frown. “No, why?”
Just then, a raucous cheer explodes beyond the enclosure of his wings. Bells ring out through the endless skies. We exchange a look, as though the significance of the moment suddenly occurred to us both.
His hand — my husband’s hand — is still on my cheek, thumb moving to caress my bottom lip. He reaches out with his other hand, placing it on the small of my back.
“What happens now?” I breathe. “Do—do we kiss?”
His eyes flicker to my lips. His voice is thick with mischief as he says, “Something like that.”
He draws me close. I shut my eyes, and…
And…
I am falling. We are falling. I try to scream, but my face is buried in his chest. His arms tighten like vice grips around me, and I can feel the gods-given power surging through them, like light and heat given physical form. Suddenly, I am jostled with a gut-wrenching lurch as he extends his wings, shifting us from free-fall into a graceful glide around the floating islands of Skyhold.
His home — and now, my home.
I hear nothing but the panicked rush of blood in my ears. I do, however, feel his chest bounce with unmistakable laughter. “Is this better, wife?”
If he could see my eyes, I am not sure which would capture his attention first: the pools of tears threatening to pour over, or the hellish fires of unmasked rage.
I swear, if I ever see my sister again, I am going to kill her.
