Shackles of Blood

As they always say, blood is thicker than water. Kinship is one of the most treasured emotions in the world, and it is priceless. One cannot choose family, but is instead born with it. And no matter how badly one is hurt by kinship, sooner or later, one finds the capacity in them to forgive the family member. For blood is blood. The same blood runs in the veins, and blood calls to blood.

No matter what happens, blood will never change.

Sitting down precariously on a sturdy-looking branch, she paused to catch her breath.

The sounds of shuffling feet and clanking armour approached, and she hurriedly withdrew her dangling legs, keeping them close to her body. Not even daring to breathe lest it gave her away, she froze as she waited for the heavily-armoured guards to pass. The last thing she wanted was to be caught by the guards again. The beating she received last time left her so sore all over for an entire week that she could not even lie down without wincing.

When all was quiet again, she dared to peek through the weaving branches of the cherry tree, heavy with blossoms. The tree was thick with pink blossoms, and every wind sent a shower of fragrant petals fluttering to the ground. Everyone would be admiring the blossoms and the scent, but nobody would notice what was in the tree.

It was excellent, a perfect hiding place for her.

Silently, she chuckled. It was surprising how the security in the royal palace itself was so lax.

Leaning against the tree branch, she inspected the jeweled box she had managed to pilfer from one of the rooms. The craftsmanship was intricate, and the box bore the royal seal. Carefully, she opened it the pearl clasp. Her heart sank as she flipped through the compartments. The box was not worth the effort she had taken to steal it. It contained an ivory comb, a small gold locket and a plain silver ring with the royal seal.

Since it would be suicide to sell the items with the royal seal, the only things of value in the box were the locket and the comb. Combined, they would possibly amount to 150 gold, which would enable her to buy today and tomorrow's food, and some much needed necessities at home.

Keeping as quiet as possible, she was about to leave when she spied a young man coming out of the palace into the courtyard, holding a sword in his hand. From the looks of it, he was going to practice his swordplay.

She could not resist the temptation to watch. Swords had always been a fascination for her, and she herself was skilled with swords, thanks to the harsh training her father had given her when she was young.

She glanced at her own shamshir, strapped to her belt, and felt a sense of envy as she strained her neck to see the elaborate details on the sword belonging to the young man. The hilt bore the royal seal, and the blade was sharp and deadly. Various jewels were inlaid into the hilt, and the scabbard was richly decorated.

The man himself wore simple but expensive-looking silk robes. His long red hair was loose and tumbled freely down his back. The buckle of his belt was made in the motif of the royal crest. He moved with a simple elegance and dignified air.

She had no idea who he was, but one thing she was sure of was that he was someone of importance and held in high regard in the royal family.

The man twirled the sword in his hand and thrust it into an imaginary target with a steady and sure hand. Turning around sharply, he blocked off a counter-attack from his imaginary partner and retaliated with a sharp slash of his own.

Mesmerised, she leant further to spy on his swordplay through the thick branches of the tree. For once, she hated the thickness of the blossoms: they blocked her view of him.

The crack that followed made her wince in shock and horror.

He heard it too, for he turned around immediately to face the tree, sword pointing outwards. "Who is it?"

She froze. Should she stay silent and make him think that it was the act of the wind? Or should she run, so that she would definitely be able to escape?

He walked closer. "Come out." His voice was firm, commanding. "I know you are there, show yourself."

She did not take the chance. In the blink of an eye, she leapt from the tree onto the wall and flipped over it to the safety of the other side, where he would never be able to catch her.

As much as she had wanted to continue watching him practicing with his sword, she would not risk getting caught and receiving another beating from one of the queen's personal bodyguards.


Sullenly, she stepped over the threshold of the cottage, weighing the few coins she now possessed in her coin pouch.

The shopkeeper was a grouch and a miser. His starting offer for the comb and the locket was a measly 50 gold, and after much haggling (and threats), he had grudgingly dropped 120 gold into her outstretched palm.

"He's probably going to sell them for twice that price," she muttered darkly under her breath.

"Hey Marisa!" She looked up to see her chief, Gerik, waving at her from where he was keeping accounts at the table.

She nodded her head in greeting to the various other occupants of the table. Tethys was a dancer by profession, and had frequented many lords' banquets as a guest performer of exotic dances. Her brother Ewan was sitting beside his sister, humming a song to himself. Saleh specialized in magic, and he doubled as Ewan's teacher and the master strategist.

"Any missions, Chief?" she asked.

Gerik shook his head. "Not now. Why? You need money urgently?"

She shrugged as she turned to leave. "I'll get by."

"Your father should stop gambling and do something for once!" Ewan blurted loudly. "He's gambling away all your money-" His voice died in a gurgles and muffled shouting as Tethys covered his mouth with her hand.

She stopped and turned around, blade in hand. "He's my father," she sighed with resignation. That was a fact that would never be changed, and as a daughter, she had the responsibility to taking care of her father and repaying his debts when necessary.

The was a tense silence for a long time. "Oh!" Gerik leapt up suddenly and fumbled around his pocket. "Here, the coin I owe you last time."

Waving, she slipped the coin into her pocket, turned around and made her exit.


Home sweet home. She thought sarcastically as she pushed open the wooden door of the dilapidated brick house. The originally white walls were now grey from accumulated dust and dirt, and the tiles on the roof were crumbling, causing leaks whenever it rained. The rooms were mostly bare from furnishing, the furniture either smashed during one of her father's gambling fits, or sold to pay off her father's debts or buy food and necessities.

"You're home." Her father coughed from one corner of the room, his shamshir in one hand, his other hand clutching the arm of the armchair like the talon of a hawk clutching its prey.

"You're home." She could not stop her sarcasm. Usually, her father left the house at dawn to gamble and returned at midnight with a pocketful of new debts. It was rare to see him lounging in the house in the afternoon. Casting a distasteful look at her father, she headed for her bedroom.

"Wait," her father commanded. "Sit." He indicated to the chair opposite his.

"I don't have money," she said forcefully, gritting her teeth. She was tired of him begging for money everyday he went home, emptying her pockets of her earnings to go feed his gambling addiction.

"It's not about the money. Now sit." He commanded. He was a shadow of his former self, before he became a slave to gambling. The ferocity and sheer power of the days when he was one of the best swordmasters and most feared assassin in the world was now gone, replaced by a dull apathy and pathetic exterior.

She sank into the chair reluctantly. For the past five years, she had never had a conversation with her father that did not resolve around money. She looked at her father expectantly, waiting for the word 'money' to appear in his next sentence.

Her father cleared his throat. "I've found you a husband."

"What?" She was besieged by pure shock, pure horror and pure bewilderment. Why did he, of all things he could do with his free time, go and find her a husband? Why would she want a husband at this age?

"No." She was firm. She did not want to get married.

"You don't have a choice." Her father waved his hand dismissively. "It's already been arranged."

"You could reject it now!" She cried.

"Don't you get it, girl?" He whirled around to face her and snarled. "It's not your choice! It's not mine either! Either I marry you to your new husband or both of us will be killed before we can step out of this house!"

Everything was so confusing, and so much information was streaming in, she blinked in utter confusion for 5 minutes, listening to her father's heavy breathing and the rapid beating of her own heart.

Then it clicked.

"You lost me as a wager for one of your gambling sprees?" She was practically screaming. "Me? How could you do that? It's absurd! It's inhumane! What kind of a father are you?"

Hands placed on his knees, her father waited patiently for her to finish her ranting and calm down. "I did not have a choice," he said calmly, as though it was the most obvious and rational thing in the world. "My creditors threatened to kill both of us if we don't pay up soon. Then this man showed up and made a deal with me. If I win, he would pay all my debts and even give me more money. But if I lose…he said he wanted a wife, and so he asked me for your hand…"

"And you agreed!"

"I did not have a choice!" Her father leapt up in his seat. "Otherwise they would kill all of us! You remember Valter and Caellach? Do you think our feeble efforts would stand any chance against them and their mobs?"

She sank down, back into the chair, defeated. All she could see was darkness, swarming to enclose her, drowning her in a pool of despair, filling her with desperation and fear…

"Who is it?" The words left her lips as a feeble whisper.

"Valter and Caellach? Those are the two vile- Oh. You mean the guy?" Her father scratched his head lightly. "I think he's a lord or something, he was wearing really expensive stuff, and he had a lot of money at his disposal…don't worry, he looks quite alright, and he's young, around your age."

That's not the point. She thought coldly. I'm getting married and I don't know who the groom is. How could you marry someone you don't love?

"When is the wedding?" She foresaw herself trapped in a cold empty palace, surrounded by gleaming gems and precious stones. The jewels mocked her, the servants despised her, her husband was cold. Panic seized her heart. Was this the fate that she had to endure?

"The man said something like…tomorrow morning?"

Tomorrow morning? Tomorrow morning! The words resounded in her head over and over again in a hollow whisper. Dread and fury had already consumed her. Numbness was the only sensation she felt. Darkness had already eclipsed her heart and blocked out all feelings of warmth.

Please…let tomorrow morning not come…

Hello everybody! This story is set in alternate universe, namely the Orient during the Medievals. Although it is going to be mostly revolving around romance, there will be politics, war and other themes involved as well. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Read and review please!

And any suggestions would be warmly welcomed. Or you could suggest a plot development that you would like to see? I'll do my best to incorporate it into the story :D