The sun hung bright in the sky, painted a vibrant shade of azure. Not a single cloud marked the perfect high sea of blue, and a bead of sweat trickled down my temple as the hot air blew around me, hitting my face and my neck. Such was the weather on this particular summer's day in Archenland, as I watched my sister dance with my brother in the exact stroke of noon.
But this was not a lavish dance of balls and banquets and barons, in gowns of silk and satin swirling around the shining floor of a grand marble ballroom. Nor was it a dance of light-hearted leisure is the garden, barefoot on the dewy grass and twirling in a cool afternoon amongst the blossoms. No, this dance was different. This was a dance of pure strategy and cunning, the movement of chain mail and the sharpened edge of steel. Sand blew across the training field, disturbed by the temperamental breeze.
Another loud clash of metal rung through the humid air – like a knife, it tore through the thickness of the low-hanging heat. I found myself staring at the result of a just-concluded spar, a sword lying on the ground, the flat of the blade reflecting the light from above. In the center of the training ring stood my brother, chest heaving with labored breath and a triumphant grin on his young face – an expression directed towards my sister, who stood empty-handed and scowling deeply.
"I call a rematch," she growled sourly. "You cheated."
"Cheated, me?" my brother looked appalled. "Dear sister, with all due respect, there was no need to cheat on you. Perish the thought, really."
"You-" My sister started, rolling her sleeves up to her elbows, her fingers curling into tight fists.
"Now, now, Aaliyah," My brother smirked. "We can settle this without any violation of lady-like manners and such. Victoria, don't you agree that I won fair and square?"
"That's not really a fair question, is it?" Aaliyah demanded hotly.
"Keep quiet, we're letting our sister decide."
My eyes travelled back and forth between them in a dizzying match. My sister stared at me, silently communicating her thoughts through eye movements. My brother caught on, and exclaimed.
"Excuse me! None of that twin sorcery you always do," He cried. "Victoria, the verdict, if you please!"
I stared hard at my sister, then let my apology shine through.
"I'm sorry," I sighed. "But he didn't cheat, Aaliyah. Not that I know of."
"Yes! Oh, come now, don't be such a bad sport!" He chortled as my sister's scowl deepened tenfold. "If it makes you feel better, I almost broke a sweat this time around."
"Oh, just be quiet, will you, Caleb?" Aaliyah snapped, crossing the ring to pick up her fallen sword. "It's bad enough that I've been betrayed by my own mirror image."
A wave of guilt swept over me. But what was I supposed to do? Lie?
Caleb retreated into the shade and took a seat beside me, splashing his face with cool water from a nearby basin.
"Don't feel too bad, Victoria," He patted my shoulder heavily. "Sometimes, it's good that you jump out of Aaliyah's back pocket. You should really do it more often."
"Yes, but don't just hurry on and slip into Caleb's," my twin sister argued, joining us in an escape from the heat. She slipped off her slightly loose helmet, letting down her mane of light, golden hair, similar – no, identical, really – to mine. With a disgruntled expression, she flicked a few droplets of water at our older brother. "Besides, I have my rights to Victoria's partiality. We're pretty much the same person."
"On the outside," Caleb chuckled. "But she isn't a crazy, loudmouthed princess with a bad attitude and an inappropriate love for the field of battle."
"You make it sound like my training is a bad thing," Aaliyah challenged.
"Well, no, not the training," He conceded. "Just the loudmouthed, crazy part."
My sister opened her mouth – most likely to argue – but then the arrival of a handmaiden cut her off.
"Forgive me, your majesties," she squeaked, while performing a quick curtsey. "But the king would like to see you all in his throne room to discuss some urgent matters. If it would please you."
"What matters?" Aaliyah asked.
"The king did not say, Princess Aaliyah. He only asks to see you immediately."
"Well, then, we should go immediately," Caleb stood, wiping the remaining droplets of water off his face with the front of his shirt.
"Very good, Prince Caleb," the handmaiden curtsied once more. "I shall inform the king that you are on your way."
She exited, and we were once again left alone, speculating what the summons was all about.
"I wonder what matters could be so urgent?" Caleb mused thoughtfully.
"Do you think we're under attack?" Aaliyah said, with inappropriate excitement. Caleb rolled his eyes.
"I hope not," I frowned, not relishing the thought of another war.
"Besides, don't you think if we were at war, I'd know?" Caleb added.
"No," Aaliyah snorted. "You're always too busy chasing down Lady Layla, who, by the way, has this absurd propensity to snea-"
"I think it would be best if we all just cleaned up quickly and hurried to father. Don't you?" I interrupted, shooting my sister a dark look. She sighed and made an unhappy face, but proceeded to trudge out of the training area. I followed, with Caleb treading not far behind. We parted ways at our chambers, and I followed my sister into our shared bedroom, where she began unstrapping her bulky armor.
"Don't tell him, but I think Caleb gave me a good whack across the shoulder, could you have a look at it?" She grumbled, slipping off her mail. "Bloody brutal, that man."
"You were the one who asked him to 'not go easy on you', as I recall," I smiled weakly as she sat down and exposed her shoulder – true enough, her cream-white skin was marred with a horribly dark red blotch, the curved dent of the backend of a blade still dug deep. "But you're right, that does look terrible."
"I don't care how it looks, could you just do something about the pain?" She moaned, pressing it down lightly and wincing.
As I gathered a basin of hot water and some ointment, I spoke in a voice I perceived as nonchalant. "You know, Aaliyah, this probably isn't the worst kind of injury you could get from all this fighting."
"What do you mean?" She mumbled distractedly, running a brush rather savagely through her hair, pulling at the knots for all her life's worth.
"I mean that, compared to the wounds people get from ugly wars, your little smack from the blunt end of Caleb's sword would probably be equivalent to a kitten's fiercest licking," I sighed, pressing the hot towel against her shoulder – she bit her lip and turned pink, trying to stifle the sound of pain. "And compared to a real life battle, this strenuous sparring of yours would probably just be a little stroll in the gardens."
"That's why I'm training," She reasoned, making a face as I spread ointment across her back. "To get better at it. And to become a real warrior. To be able to fight for Archenland."
"There is no necessity for a princess to fight," I replied quietly.
"Yes, there is, Victoria," She turned in her chair and gazed up at me, her eyes glinting with something that resembled fierce determination. "Don't you ever feel that there's more to life than parties and councils and sitting properly at all times?"
"There is," I agreed. "But I'm sure that it doesn't involve fighting."
"Well, what does it involve, then?"
"I don't know," I contemplated for a moment. "Falling in love, I suppose."
"Falling in love is for airheaded heiresses and loony, childish people," Her eyes snapped to me as I stared patiently at her reflection in the mirror. "Not that I'm saying you're loony, or anything."
"I understand."
"My point is that I want to be of use, Victoria," She sighed. "If I am to be Queen, I must assert myself. I want to be a figure our people can look up to. Someone who can fight for their rights, not just bat their eyelashes and get their way like a spoiled little brat."
"I'm sure you could fight for their rights in a way that doesn't involve someone's death," I answered. "Especially not yours."
"What good is that? What good is talking to someone who won't listen?"
"I'm not sure. Clearly I'm experiencing it right now," I said, amused.
"See, exactly!" She cried, hopping up from her stool in front of the mirror and placing her attention entirely on me. "I don't need a man. I don't need to fall in love. I need to do what's right for my kingdom. I need to do what's right for myself. A woman must be able to fight for the things she believes in, too!"
"I admire your radical feminism," I sighed. "But you have to come to terms with the fact that you can't do everything. And also that marriage is a very stable, reasonable way to fulfill yourself."
"I appreciate your words of wisdom, Victoria, but I can't see it. And I won't. I'm tired of people telling me what to do. I want to do things my own way."
She slumped back down into her seat, locking her fingers in an extremely stubborn knot and began tugging. We were silent, and as I watched her pull violently at her hair, I could hardly believe that we could be classified as twin sisters.
Oh, yes, we looked so alike. From head to toe, we were more or less a carbon copy of one another - long, golden hair with a tinge of brightest copper, pale skin, sharp, grey eyes and small lips, pinched forward as though we were always pouting. Neither was taller than the other, nor slimmer, nor whiter. The only physical difference that would perhaps identify us was the small scar on the back of Aaliyah's left hand – a souvenir from a reckless race between her and Caleb on the beach, which ended in her falling into a shallow sand crater and cutting her hand on a nearby boulder. Caleb had laughed, of course, until he saw the blood forming lines on her skin. Then it wasn't as hilarious.
But behind the wall of physicality was the human manifestation of night and day. She was a strong woman – a fighter, tough and agile, quick and brave. She would never turn down a fight – in fact, if being a lady did not forbid it, she would start them on purpose, just to have a go at someone. She did not despise being a princess, only having to act like one. A firm believer of the female warrior, Aaliyah trained constantly in the art of war, so that she might one day be able to serve her kingdom by leading the army.
I, on the other hand, had no intention whatsoever to involve myself in any form of mauling, sparring, or general pain infliction. However, though I worried for my sister's safety, I could not deny that her cause was valid and, truly, patriotic. In this sense, her reason for wanting to fight was undeniably admirable.
With a final tug, she had released her hair – it hung around her face, framing her small jaw and rosy cheeks – red from the sun, and from the effort of fighting. I smiled weakly at her, then went to her closet and pulled out a dress – from the mirror, I saw her wince. Another ladylike tradition. Skirts were, perhaps besides Caleb on the training field, her worst enemy.
"You can hold the skirt up a bit, just as long as you don't make it obvious," I said as she began to slip it on. "It's not a formal meeting anyway."
"I know, but everyone will be watching me anyway," She grumbled. "They have eyes all over the place, so that once I make the slightest move to hitch it up, they'll come swooping down like a hawk and cluck at me like a hen."
"Apt comparisons."
"Thank you."
"Well, you know that you're a princess, and you're in charge," I reminded her. "You could just tell them to butt out."
"Oh but that language is far from appropriate," She replied sourly.
"True, but it's your kingdom," I assured her. "No one can really tell you off unless they want a painful execution."
"That is slightly more comforting."
A rapid knocking came from outside, followed by Caleb's impatient voice. "Would you ladies hurry up in there? The world could be ending and you'd still be lacing up your bloody corsets!"
I opened the door, just in time for him to stop in his next bout of rapping on the wood, his fist raised slightly.
"What's taking so long?" He demanded.
"Well Aaliyah had this –" But I remembered she'd asked me not to tell. "Had this, um, problem. With her hair. Knots and all."
It was a poor save, but anything seemed like a plausible excuse to Caleb, as long as a woman did it, and it sounded like an alien female ritual.
"Well, hurry it up, knots and all. We haven't got all day."
"It's easy for you to say, Caleb, you're a boy!" Aaliyah stood, rolling her eyes and walking to the door.
"And don't you forget it, miss!" He shook his head. "Come on!"
My father sat in his throne, drumming his fingers with an air of impatience. He did not look up as we arrived, sitting down on the circular table in the center of the room. Council members stood as we arrived – not out of reverence to us, but as a sign that the meeting would finally begin. We all stood in silence beside our seats, waiting for my father, who seemed too lost in deep thought. When his head finally lifted, he eyed us and gave one quick nod. We sat down quietly, not speaking, not looking at one another in the eye.
"Council is officially in session," One elderly man croaked. "And we have summoned here the son and daughters of Royal Archenland. Let us begin."
He said nothing more, but bowed his head as if in prayer.
A slightly younger council member spoke up. "So far we have made progress with the ongoing treaty. The Council of Cair Paravel has agreed to a long-term bond between the forces of Archenland and Narnia. They have conceded to providing us with military force and free trade in all routes, provided that we should offer the same services. Does anyone in the council deem this unreasonable?"
A lot of murmuring and head shaking ensued.
"Indeed, we have all agreed an alliance with Narnia would be favorable to us – favorable as it borders on necessity," Another spoke, and many changed the shaking of their heads to vigorous nodding. "But a mere contract is not enough. What if the Narnians go back on their word?"
More murmuring – this time, louder, angrier. Yes, the Narnians could go back on their word. Yes, they seem like treacherous folk. Barbaric accusations you say against the Narnians that keep the food on your table and the Telmarines from your kingdom, sir! The Narnians could very well be barbaric in their own right! Hush! The thrones of Cair Paravel would not stand for such abominable lies!
"Whether or not you believe the Narnians will go back on their word is irrelevant to me," my father suddenly spoke, seemingly perturbed by the flurry of mad words. "But what we need now is an army that promises strength enough to keep the Telmarines from the land. And I will not have your petty, lacking biases against the Narnian royalty put my kingdom and my people at stake. Reserve your judgement against the Narnians for your own quarters. I call this council not to ask for your opinion, but to announce the next step in this alliance."
"The next step, my king?" the previous member asked. "Should it not be enough that we have constant communication and contact with the Narnians?"
"It is not," Another, much older council member interrupted. "And I assure you, Lord Byorn, that though you stand in your right to doubt Narnia's loyalty, the Narnians themselves lack faith in the Archenland Council as well – and it is council members like you that cause such disturbances in an otherwise peaceful alliance."
"I beg your pardon, Lord Rhys, but I believe my speculative judgment against Narnians is reasonable, and, quite frankly, utterly necessary. Or has it not reached you that the High King of Narnia is but a third of your age?" Lord Byorn said contemptuously.
"Only a pompous, ignorant fool such as yourself would rely solely on age to doubt the entire government of Narnia," Lord Rhys snapped. "But should you wish to continue your accusations against Narnia's High King and his council, do so by all means – however, I request that you do it outside the borders of Archenland. Or, better yet, enlist yourself in the Telmarine Army!"
Another bout of angry words flew from one end of the table to another. People had begun picking sides as to who was right and who was wrong, who was mad and who needed to join the Telmarine Army. My siblings and I sat, utterly befuddled, watching the group of old men bicker like two housewives fighting over a petty matter.
"Silence, silence!" My father roared, banging his fist on the armrest of the throne – not so much the act as the fury in his voice quelled the arguments, no matter how bitterly they ended. "You call yourself a council? Or do none of you know nothing about the manner in which my advisor should behave?"
A small silence met his words, but he continued on. "Lord Byorn, Lord Rhys is right. In our treaty with them, we have prospered much. But imminent war is looming, and the Telmarines are preparing for battle. Shoring up our defenses is not enough. We must seek lasting aid from the Narnians."
"If I may, my liege," the first council member who spoke had seemingly awoken from his trance and addressed my father. "I have spoken to High Adviser Brinn of the Narnian Council, and he has agreed to your ingenious suggestion for cementing the ties between Archenland and Narnia. He is relaying it to the High King of Narnia as we speak."
"Very good, Lord Groft," My father said, in what I assumed was a manner synonymous to praise. "And so we move to the present matter. I have come up with a plan to ensure Narnia's full and unwavering support, in an alliance extending generations. Should any of the council disagree that it is favorable to us?"
The members of the council shook their head – some, rather reluctantly.
"Then it is set in stone – let it be known that I, King Edward Vythica of Archenland, do permit a long-term alliance with the country of Narnia by means of matrimonial bonds."
A pregnant pause ensued, only to be broken by the voice of my brother.
"If I may speak, father," Caleb queried, and my father inclined his head. "But by whom should the duty of this matrimonial alliance be fulfilled?"
It was a rare occasion to hear my brother speak so formally – it seemed a struggle for him, a bit. Aaliyah spoke up, not bothering to flower her words with courtesy.
"But of course by you, Caleb!" She smirked. "You are the oldest."
"The Narnians have a High King," Lord Groft pointed out. Aaliyah deflated, and Caleb grinned in a second triumph. "And according to Narnian tradition, the marriage must follow according to status as well as age. Hence, we must have a lady of the court be his bride. The eldest princess of Archenland must marry the eldest King of Narnia. Such is only right."
"Yes, but who?" Lord Byorn said accusatorily. "The daughters of King Edward are of the same age."
"One must have come before the other," Lord Groft stated. "Or should we simply offer the High King of Narnia two wives?"
I stared at my sister, whose jaw slackened – clearly, this went against everything she believed in; her feminist rights, her desire to free herself from the womanly standard, her hard work in training until her body was so bruised she could barely move.
"I don't believe the High King of Narnia would promote polygamy in his stance," Lord Rhys added. "It should be the eldest."
"Then it should be Caleb," Aaliyah snapped suddenly. "They're both boys, they'll get along splendidly."
"Aaliyah," I frowned at her. She cast me a look that translated into a command that I should stay out of this.
"No, Princess Aaliyah," Lord Groft shook his head. "It must be you."
"Why can't it be Victoria?" She wailed, her voice rising in pitch. "We're the same age. Practically born at the same time!"
"Practically," Lord Rhys echoed. "But the margin proves the older between the two. It must be you, Princess."
"No, but I can't! Isn't there another way? Why must we follow the traditions of Narnia? Why can't the eldest daughter marry Caleb instead?"
"Excuse me-" Caleb began, but was cut off by Lord Groft.
"The eldest Queen of Narnia is not yet open to suitors. And the younger Queen is not yet of age. To top fact with logic, we must consider that we are asking the Narnians for their favor, and not the other way around. Please understand, Princess. It must be you."
"No, I won't have it-"
"Aaliyah!" My father's voice rang across the entire hall, and we cringed. "Do not defy my council – for should you do so, you defy my will. Would you defy my orders? I am your father. I am your king."
"But father-"
"Aaliyah," I whispered. "Please. Don't start. Do this for your kingdom."
"But Victoria-"
"Please. Make this sacrifice for Archenland."
Her face turned a deep shade of red – anger was boiling up inside her, her eyes shining with tears of frustration. She had wanted to serve her kingdom – but not this way. Never this way. This was exactly what she had sworn against – a tie to another man, what more one she did not know, did not love. It was a pure abomination.
But it was law.
She took a shaky breath, then looked at my father. The corners of her mouth trembled as she spoke.
"Forgive me, father. If it is your will and the council's then I-" She cleared her throat. "I… will wed the High King of Narnia."
Caleb and I watched in awe as she sat down, bowing her head – her hair fell around her face, serving as a curtain behind which she could hide from the rest of the council.
"Very good," Lord Groft said. "Then this council is adjourned. I shall make the preparations for the travel to Cair Paravel at once."
The chairs scraped against the stone floor of the hall – one by one, the lords of the council left the throne room. Last to leave was my father, who had stood stiffly, glanced at us, and walked briskly out of the hall.
In silence, my siblings and I sat, still dazed by the most recent events. Aaliyah had not raised her head once since she had bent it. She was still, unmoving and silent, like a statue, like a woman in prayer.
Only the splattering of tears on her hands, resting on her lap, betrayed her as she was.