October 7th, the last day of moose hunting season, and I'm determined to get a kill. I wake up at 5 am, when the sky is a rainbow of purple and green. A quiver of thirteen arrows hangs next to an array of bows. Most are recurve with only a few compound bows; I actively hunt my prey, and thus my speed is more important than my power. I fish out a neon orange vest from my drawer and pulled it on. The air is crisp and cool with the oncoming frost, even in early October.
With the carbon-fiber bow in my hand and the metal-tipped arrows slug across my back I feel like a modern Diana. I do have a silver tiara, but I only ever wear it for formal occasions. I crack the door open and step out into the halls with bow in hand.
I don't wear boots when I hunt, though I probably should, instead I wear dark grey heavy-duty trail running shoes. The rubber soles are silent against the stone floor. When I jog down the wide staircases to the first floor I'm met by the doormen, who also happen to be guards trained to kill.
"Your highness, I do believe-" One of them relaxes his posture and looks at me.
"No," I answer his question before it can escape his lips, "I'll signal you when I get my kill."
I walk along the gravel path towards the woods, hyper aware of the guards' eyes following me, until I get to the edge of the woods and I break into a run. The thirty square miles of forest doesn't have any official trails, but I don't need them. Natural landmarks guide my way deeper into the forest.
I stop at a pile of droppings, cirtenly big enough to be moose. Fresh too, no older than an hour or two. I do some quick mental math to figure out how far away the animal could be. I follow the footprints at a brisk pace, dialing all my senses up to eleven to feel even the slightest shift in the forest. I spent most of the week out here, but I still hadn't managed to get a kill. It would be humiliating if I returned without on.
A twig snaps. Far off in the distance, maybe up to a mile away, but it's enough. I notch an arrow and jog silently through the floor of pine needles and dirt. Then I see him. He's bigger than any moose I've seen before, seven feet tall at least, munching calmly on a row of ferns. I kneel down in the soft dirt. The earth sags under my weight as if it was alive, capable of breathing. I pull back my arrow and stare down the shaft at the moose. It's dark brown hide glistening in the fall sun, seeming to reflect the red, orange, and yellow leaves around it. It head pulls up slowly and it looks around in an eerily human-like way. It takes a step backwards and I can feel earth underneath me shift in response to his weight.
My heart drops when I release the arrow. The metal tip burrows into its chest, but not fatally. The animal collapses but it's not dead. I leave my bow on the ground and walk towards the animal. Its eyes follow me with uncanny intelligence. He's waiting for me to finish it. One last-ditched effort for survival from him would end my life in a heartbeat, but he doesn't fight. His eyes are narrowed with complatence. I flick open my knife with a soft click as the blade locks into place. He blinks. I tear open the animals throat at the jugular, preying it's suffering is as brief as possible, and the blood splatters over my face and jacket.
"Thank you," I whisper to the animal, laying a hand on its forehead. I start to cry. Silent tears stream down my face. I pull out a tracker and stick it to a nearby tree, the guards will come and collect the corpse, bid the antlers, pelt, and arrow, and give the profits to charity.
I make my way back to the palace slowly, taking my time to study the trees and the sky, seeing how many species of tree I can name, not as many as my grandfather could, but I think it's enough for him to know he made an impact on me.
I sit down on a rock and unpack a sandwich and slices veggies one of the guards packed for me. I close my eyes and lean back against the smooth bark of the birch tree. Grandad used to make us sandwiches and veggies whenever we went out hunting, and there was something missing when he didn't make them.
Grandad was third in line for the throne of Illea, but due to an illness that struck down his eldest brother and a dramatic abdication on behalf of his brother, he landed the role of king when he expected nothing more than being in charge of nature preserves. He took his duties as king seriously, but he never stopped loving nature. My father, his only son, didn't have much of an interest in nature and was much more into technology. Why my elder sister came along she followed my father in becoming future queen, but Grandad finally got me. And he instilled in me a sense of wonder and appreciation for the world around me.
As I meander out of the forest I see dozens of cars and spectators outside the palace. I feel animalistic with the dried blood splattering my clothes and face. I glance down at my watch, it's a little after noon, why would there be so many spectators?
The Selection. I nearly drop my bow. How had I forgotten? I was so focused on getting my kill I'd completely neglected my sister's 35 suitors coming to live with me for months. I start sprinting around the outskirts of the forest to a back entrance.
"Your highness!" A guard runs up to me, "Where have you been?"
"In the woods, moping," I snap. The man clearly isn't amused by this.
"You were expected in the Great Hall half an hour ago, the suitors are expected any minute,"
"Well forgive me if I'm not very interested Elisa's love life," I open the back door and the guard is immediately replaced by Izzie, my maid.
"Goodness child, why are you covered in blood? Oh never mind, let's get you into the bath and down to the main rooms as soon as possible," she leads me through a series of back staircases to the third floor.
"A-ni-ka," Elisa sounds out each syllable to get her anger across. Apparently she couldn't think of any annoyingly long words.
"Sorry," I mumble.
"Sorry doesn't cut it!" She shreakes. "The first of them are arriving in an hour I expect you to be there,"
I try to apologize again, but I'm whisked of by my maids into the bathroom. The bath is already drawn and I'm stripped of my bloody clothes.
"Could you put the knife on my nightstand?" I ask when Olivia holds the bloody tool between her fingers like it's a dead rat. She looks at me and then disappears into my room to dispose of it where I asked her too.
My body is scrubbed with lavender soap until I'm convinced they've removed all of my skin. Lizzie brings my dress in. A simple satin green. Elegant but not too frilly, and it'll keep me in the background since today, and everyday, was all about Elisa. Thankful Elisa wore mostly warm color, so I got away with my blues, greens, and purples.
My hair, brown with natural blonde highlights, was put into a simple french braid. Simple was everything right now.
Dressed, with my touched up make-up and hair, I felt ready to face the world. The only jewelry I wore was my grandfather's watch. It was bulky and masculine, but it reminded the country of the great ruler they had a few generations previously, and how the love of nature and the preservation of the natural world in such an age of industry was preserved, or at least that's what I told my father.
"You look beautiful, miss," Izzie smiles at me. I return her smile and exit my room. Elisa had also had time to change and dress up, not that she needed it, she had the natural beauty of our mother. She wore a baby pink off-the-shoulder dress which slimmed at her waist and poofed at her hips to be as wide as she was tall. It fit her, though. She demanded the attention of the room.
We simply nodded to each other. Her hair was thick, wavey, and platinum blonde. The only sound was our heels on the stone floor as we made our way to the main hall. Mom and dad stood on either side of her and I followed behind, resisting the temptation to step on her floral train.
"It's an honor to participate in my generation's selection," Elisa annonces halfway down the stairs. She has this thing of beginning her speech before she even enters a room, so everyone is focused on her as soon as she walks in.
The Great Hall is organized in a horseshoe shape, with the selected standing around the perimeter. Elisa stops at the foot of the stairs and laid her hands on her dress, giving the fakest smile I've ever seen.
"Over the coming months one of you will become my husband, and I look forward to meeting each and every one of you," Her voice soft, but assertive in the way mine never could be. For a moment I imagine what had happened if I had been born first, having to go through this process, and my smile falters.
"If you all would go to the men's room I will meet with each of you individually for a short introduction," Elisa smiles, and some of the boys grin in anticipation. The men's room isn't an official place, but it was set up as a place for the boys to congregate in their downtime, an equivalent to the Women's Room, and Elisa nominated the rec room.
Once everyone was out of the room I let out a breath and relax my shoulders. "You were late," Dad announces.
"Yeah, I was hunting," I answer, already turning away. "Speaking of hunting," I spin back around to face Elisa, "Deer season starts in two weeks and I'll need that room for the ceremony."
"Sweetie," Mom follows after my brisk pace, "This is your sister's big moment, she-"
"And the opening ceremony is the one time per year people actually care about me, so maybe we could use that as PR." I don't mean to sound snarky, but my voice has an edge to it. Mom sighs as we walk towards the gardens.
"Anika-"
"It's fine. Elisa's the one becoming queen anyway," I take a sharp right and out of the gardens to the older parts of the palace where we keep some of the historical paintings and photos. The rooms here are dark to preserve the old chemicals from centuries ago. I'm particularly entranced by photographs from the failed expedition of Ernest Shackleton, who tried to be the first the circumnavigate Antarctica, but his ship got caught in the ice and he was forced to abort the mission. Throughout all of the trails he and his men went through, everyone survived.