Shackles of Loyalty

Even for the most treacherous fellow, there is some loyalty inside him or her, be it loyalty to his country, his people, his family, his lover, money, status, ideology...There are so many things that one can be loyal to, and there are so many things one can betray, with so many unknown repurcussions, unforeseen consequences.

But one thing is for sure, loyalty refers to the steadiness of one's affection and dedication towards something, sometimes bordering on devotion. And that devotion restricts our behaviour. others' behaviour, making us do certain things, say certain words, act in certain ways.

May our loyalty to what is true to us never waver.Marisa tossed and turned that night. Hard as she tried, sleep evaded her for long hours, with the result of her climbing out of her bed at six in the morning. As she drew her curtains, she noticed that the first rays of the sun had stained the clouds by the horizon lovely shades of peach and orange.


Tiptoeing, she made her way silently out of her room, out of the common room and through the corridors. Her slippers made no sound against the wooden floor, and it was unlikely that anyone would be wide awake this early in the morning, save the guards, who were supposed to be doing night duty at their stations. Breakfast was not until nine, and many of the servants, even the cooks, gave themselves the liberty of sleeping until seven before waking and preparing the day's duties.

She wandered around aimlessly, enjoying the brief peace and quiet. She thought about her quarrel with Joshua last night, and her eyebrows knitted together into a frown. If Saleh was right about him, she had married little more than a gambling and womanizing scoundrel who took advantage of her father's debts to marry her, then took advantage of their marriage to secure his own throne. Not to mention that he was jealously possessive, and a man who employed different standards for himself and others around him.

She rolled her eyes at the long list of virtues her husband possessed before mentally chided herself for warming up towards him during the past few weeks. She wondered when he would ascend the throne, and cheered up at the thought of her freedom once he became king.

The cold air hit her full on the face as she walked by the entrance to the dungeon. The door had been carelessly left open by the guards who were on duty last night and were currently napping at their stations. She grimaced at their tardiness and their lack of responsibility and coughed lightly.

The noise she made woke one of the guards. He jumped when he saw her, and quickly nudged his fellow companions who were still sleeping. Stirring, they too leapt up when they saw her. Together, they bowed nervously, their faces aflame with embarrassment.

With a casual wave of her hand, she released them from further embarrassment by signaling to them to resume their duties. Slowly, she made her way down the moss-covered stairs leading into the dungeon.

The dungeons were mostly empty. Common criminals were kept in the state prison, on the outskirts of the country where few ventured to. The palace dungeons were for political criminals and assassins, to facilitate interrogation by the palace officials and ministers of necessary. As such, thanks to long period of peace and prosperity the world had previously enjoyed, the prisons were very much unused. Thick layers of dust coated the floor and the prison bars, and cold water dripped from leaks in the ceiling.

She saw that the last cell was occupied. The occupant, the spy who had wounded her, was huddled on the cold stone floor, with nothing to keep himself warm from the draught besides a thin layer of moldy straw. He was still wearing the dark green robes from that day, but the purple mask had been ripped from his face. His features were swollen and half of his was face was buried in the straw, making it difficult to see his visage.

She signaled the guard. "Could you unlock this cell?"

The guard hesitated. "Your highness wishes to visit this criminal?" he hesitated. "He is known to be rough and violent… when Prime Minister Alexander last came…"

"I will call for you if he becomes unmanageable," she reassured. "And I won't stay long." She lowered her voice. "I won't tell the prince about your slacking off during guard duty."

The guard evidently looked relieved, and he reached for the keys, using which he unlocked the heavy metal door. Opening the door, he bowed and let her in before locking the door again.

The spy had stirred when he heard her conversing with the guards, and now he sat upright, fully awake. There was anxiety, nervousness and fear in his eyes, but there was also no mistaking the curiosity and burning pride in his gaze.

"You are Princess Marisa," he croaked. Even with his hoarse voice, she still could still discern the faint trace of aristocratic accent in his speech, and the cool contempt. "What do you want?" He crossed his arms defiantly and sneered at her. "Came to take revenge for me making that scar on your shoulder?"

The guard was right, this prisoner was unusually difficult and unmanageable, from his evident haughtiness to his downright rudeness. She shook her head without the slightest of expressions. "I want to talk to you."

"Talk?" He laughed hoarsely, uncrossing his arms and crossing them again. "Never Princess, will I betray anything of my country, of my master, or of my mission. Not even under the worst torture. So you can lift your skirts and traipse out of this stinking hellhole now."

"I don't believe in torture," she corrected. Indeed, she thought that torture was pretty much a useless instrument. It more or less killed the victim, or at best it maimed them mentally. What good was a deranged or dead person? Even if it did not succeed in anything else than causing them physical harm, it had the effect of shutting the mouths of the victims tighter.

"Well that's funny," the spy sniggered, spitting on the straw. "Your fine prime minister just came in last night with his horsewhip."

She was aghast. Who had allowed for his torture? Surely not Queen Ismaire…would Joshua have authorized it? She needed to speak to Sir Alexander about this matter when she next saw him.

"As I said, please leave, princess," the spy stretched and lay down on the floor of his cell once more. "You won't get anything out of a stone like me even if you play nice and innocent."

He was insufferable, intolerable and insolent. Sharply, she called the guards over. One of them came over, keys already in hand, a smug expression on face.

"Would your royal highness prefer to return to the comfort of the palace?" the guard was already placing the key in the lock. "I told your highness he was rude and violent." He unlocked the door and spat at the spy. "This way, your highness."

She did not budge. "Did Prime Minister Alexander come here last night?"

The guard bowed. "Yes your highness."

"Did he carry out torture of any form?"

The guard appeared visibly torn by the question. "That would…depend on what your highness defined as torture…" He chose his words carefully, knowing that he was treading on dangerous grounds.

"Did he whip the prisoner?" she demanded sharply.

"…"The guard hesitated, then confessed under her sharp glare. "Using his horsewhip."

How dare he? She recoiled in silent fury at the deliberate cruelty of the prime minister. "Who authorized him to carry out the torture?"

"He mentioned that he got the permission from…" the guard hesitated again, obviously fearing for his head. "King Joshua gave him the nod."

White fury surged within her. How dare Joshua do that? How lowly he treats human life and the ones around him! Hearing it made her think of their argument last night, confirming her idea of Joshua, the cold-hearted slandering narrow-minded philanderer.

"You!" She pointed to the guard by the door. "Come and bring this man to the infirmary. He needs medical assistance."

The guards looked at each other incredulously and shook their heads unanimously. "We are sorry your highness," they apologised. "The queen herself had given orders that he was not to leave the cell regardless of circumstances until approved by herself."

She ground her teeth in irritation. Damn the palace and its idiotic protocol! "Fine!" she snapped. "Get a medical box from the infirmary, one that has the basic medical ointments and such! Then get something for this man to eat and drink from the kitchen! Wake the cooks if you have to, and tell them it's by my orders! And get a decent set of clothes for this man."

The guards bowed nervously and departed.

An awkward silence descended in the cell.

"…" The spy mused. She looked up to see him studying her closely. "You are different from the rest of them...You're not from the palace originally, are you?"

She was shocked, but managed to keep her expression neutral. "Maybe."

He shrugged. "The born nobles have a certain inborn trait of snobbishness. Mixed with them long enough to smell that. They would scarcely to care for the welfare of a servant, let alone a prisoner like myself. Torture is common in the dungeons of the nobles. Yet, you are averse to the very idea." He closed his eyes briefly and muttered lowly. "In the Grado Castle, we can't even sleep at night because of the tortured screams from the dungeons."

She felt uncomfortable, both by the astute observations of this spy and his descriptions of the torture of the Grado Castle. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the images her imagination was bringing to her mind.

"Princess, here are the items you requested." The guards had returned.

She opened her eyes and accepted the items. She opened the compact medical kit and pulled out the bottle of ointment. "Take off your shirt," she commanded.

His eyes widened at her command. "You kidding?" he snickered, trying not to guffaw out loud. "Aren't you married?" He pointed to the doors of the dungeons, where the guards were prying and looking, hoping to get a glimpse of something.

"Look here any longer and I will report the load of you to Joshua for sleeping on duty," she threatened calmly. The peeping eyes and bobbing heads disappeared instantly. She turned back to the spy. "Now will you take off your shirt to let me dress your wounds? Or do you have more requirements?"

Hesitating, although there was a lingering smirk on his face, the spy took off the filthy green shirt he had been wearing. His torso was marked was various cruel-looking slashes, most likely made from a whip. Some were healing, but more looked fresh and red, with the blood newly crusted on the open flesh.

She washed the slashes with medicated water first, then smeared the ointment lightly on his wounds, taking care not to cause him further pain. The wounds closed up immediately after being smeared with the ointment, leaving an angry-looking red scar.

"You know…" The spy said. "If you really want to help me, why not look at my leg first?" She pulled up the legs of his pants, and she saw the wound that she had made on him that day with her dagger. It was heavily swollen and crusted with dried blood. Yellow and white pus oozed from the obviously infected wound.

" Should I amputate it?" The spy joked humorlessly. "Joy, I love being an invalid."

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up," she said irritably, poking her finger hard at the wound. He winced in pain and shut up immediately.

Taking the disinfectant from the medical kit, she poured the alcohol on the wound. He clenched his teeth, and a vein throbbed in his temple, but not a sound passed his lips even though the pain must have been intense.

Silently admiring his bravery, she took a clean cotton wad and cleansed the pus from his wound. When she was satisfied, she proceeded to smear the ointment over the wound, generously covering the entire expense of the injury with a thick layer of the lotion. Finally, using a roll of soft white muslim silk, she bandaged the wound on his leg. "Here," she kept the medical kit and pushed the food and wine before him. "Eat."

There were bread and butter, cheese, rice, sausages and some bacon. The guards had also brought along a bottle of wine.

"Oh God!" The spy muttered. "To think that it was their leftovers before this…" He pointed an accusing finger at the guards at the doors.

Obviously starved, he fell on the banquet before him, gulping down the bread and butter and guzzling the wine. She waited silently until he had completed his meal, then laid out the clean set of clothing on the straw. "Change into this afterwards." Finishing her task, she turned to leave the cell when he called her.

"Hey your highness!" he called. "Why are you being so courteous to prisoners all of a sudden?"

She paused. "That's compensation for my husband and my prime minister's mistreatment," she replied icily. "Take it as an apology."

"Hey! Then don't you want to know anything?" he pressed further.

She halted. "What can you give me?"

The spy grinned, for the first time since she entered the cell. "Not much for now, but I may change my mind," he said pleasantly. "My name is Stefan. I am, surely you know by now, a citizen of Grado, and I am employed by the National Grado Spy Network."

She waited for him to continue, but he merely stayed quiet, and regarded her with a solemn curiosity. "That's all?" she frowned.

"That's all," he bowed slightly. "For now. I am still a loyal citizen of Grado thus far."

He seemed as though he was purposely baiting her, but why? She looked into his eyes, and while she saw an amicable look, she also saw the suspicion and caution that was weaved intently into his gaze. He was a true spy, through and through.

"Alright then," she shrugged and stood, brushing the straw from her robes. "I will not press you for information you do not wish to divulge."

He bowed as she went out of the cell.

She signaled to the guards. "You!" she ordered. "From now on, this man is to receive proper food and drink from the kitchens, no more scraps and leftovers. Straw must be provided amply, enough to cover the floor for two inches, but not so much that he suffocates in it. No torture of any form, no spitting, no abuse. If the prime minister comes here with his horsewhip please direct him to the stables. Horsewhips are for horses, not humans. If he refuses, direct him to me. Am I clear?"

The guards bowed to her. "Yes, your highness."

Throwing one last look at the spy, Stefan, now clad in brown, she ascended the stairs and entered the palace once again.

It was seven. The servants were just beginning to stir.


Marisa lay sprawled on the couch, trying to read one of the books she had picked up from the library. The book detailed the espionage system of Grado, as well as some of their tactics. Unfortunately, it included a chapter of the various forms of physical and psychological torture the Grado guards favoured. She was extremely disturbed by the vivid descriptions of the various torture procedures and closed the book in disgust, placing it carelessly on the coffee table.

The door opened suddenly, and a line of attendants streamed in, each carrying a silver tray with a covered silver plate. Placing their plates on the coffee table, they bowed to her and left the room in the same single file, carrying the empty silver tray this time.

She looked at the attendants in bewilderment. After they had completely left and the door was shut, she curiously lifted the lid of one of the silver plates.

It was a round cherry gateau, made with fluffy layers of sponge between layers of thick cherry jam. The cake was decorated with white whipped cream, and on the top of the cake was a thick layer of fresh cream. Individual dollops of cream adorned the edges of the cake, with a ripe wholesome cherry nestled in each dollop.

In spite of herself, she gasped in delight at the treat before her. Her fingers itched to scoop a dollop of cream. Her tongue longed to taste the smooth creamy texture of the cake mixed with the sweet and sour of the cherry.

As if by magic, a finger appeared before her, coated with a delightful layer of the whipped cream from the cake. Without thinking, she licked the whipped cream off the finger and sucked gently. The cake was heavenly. It was just as good, if not better than the cherry tart from the last time she had the picnic was Joshua. Her tongue licked happily at the finger, retracing the taste of the cream.

She bit back a moan of delight as two cream-covered fingers gently placed a cherry to her lips. The cherry was so full, bursting in fruity goodness, and the juice ran down her throat in a sweet sticky trail.

"Enjoying yourself?" A husky voice said behind her.

As though in a trance, she nodded dreamily and continued licking the remaining cream that still lingered on the fingers.

The fingers disappeared. Immediately, she felt this sense of loss over the disappearance of such a heavenly ambrosia, but before she could open her mouth to protest, a pair of lips covered hers, preventing her from voicing anything other than a guttural moan.

She closed her eyes as she licked the cream off the pair of lips. This was sheer temptation, and it was really too much to her to take. She could feel herself crumbling under the combined effects of the sweet cherry offering, whipped cream coating and tender gentle kiss.

Only when his hand touched her waist did the rational side of her awake from its delicacy-induced slumber. Finding herself engaged in a fierce kiss, she pulled back instantly in shock and horror.

She looked into Joshua's eyes, which had turned a dark maroon, and stared at him in confusion. What did I just do? Was the cake spiked or something? Why do I feel so dizzy and exhilarated?

"What happened?" She managed to ask once she had regained some of her composure. She looked at the cake, whose perfection was now marred by the absence of a cherry and some of its immaculate cream decorations.

Joshua did not answer, neither did his gaze waver from her face. His eyes still possessed the same dark crimson colour. "I told Mother we would be having dinner privately today," he said in a throaty voice. "I asked the cook to prepare this banquet for specially for you."

Swiftly, he uncovered the plates. Cherry éclairs, cherry cupcakes, cherry tarts like the ones they had eaten last time, cherry cream puffs…it was a cherry paradise, with every possible cherry dish placed on a silver tray.

All this! For her!

For a moment, she felt touched at his gesture. It was really sweet of him to remember her favourite foods, and specially ask for the cooks to prepare it for her.

He was looking at her eagerly, a look of joyful anticipation on his face, as though waiting for her to give a cry of delight or smile of happiness. She thought he almost resembled a little puppy trying to please its master, and was waiting for the master's approval.

What a role reversal…she thought solemnly. He was the master, and she was the puppy on a leash named the oathpaper. The master pleasing the puppy…he must have a motive behind this…

She crossed her arms before her chest and stared at him coolly. "So?"

The smile of eager anticipation vanished from his face as she said the word, replaced by a frown on confusion and disappointment. "You don't like it?" He said, sounding crestfallen. He slowly replaced the silver lid he had been holding back onto the table. "Do you want to change? I can ask the cook to dish up something else that you like in a matter of a few minutes! What shall I ask him to change it to?"

She frowned. "Joshua, don't bother changing. The food is fine," she said irritably. "What do you want?"

He stared at her with wide-open eyes. The dark crimson had disappeared, replaced by the original ruby red. "What do you mean?" he questioned in bewilderment.

"Look. You must have a purpose for doing this right?" she huffed. "Is it another ball? Another game? Another what? What do you want? Just say it and then we can settle down for dinner."

He was dumbfounded for a moment or two. "I…just wanted…" he stuttered slowly. "I didn't want…" He combed a hand through his long hair in frustration. "I just wanted to apologise to you for yesterday, for yelling at you."

"That's all?" She said, eyeing the table contemptuously. So all this…all this lavish feast is just a bribe…and I so nearly fell for it! "Well then, apology accepted. Ask the attendants to clear this and we can proceed to the dining room for dinner." She stood up from the couch.

"Wait!" He cried, grabbing her wrist. "I did want your forgiveness…but then this dinner too is specially prepared for you! You were enjoying it a while ago…we can sit and eat this together…can't we?"

"Look Joshua." She said furiously. Her temper was swiftly rising. "Just now I liked it because I didn't know what was the hidden agenda behind the dishes. Now that I know, I feel like throwing up everything that I had just eaten, especially all that cream you fed me. Let me go!"

He held on fast to her wrist. "No. Why can't we sit down and enjoy a dinner just like a normal couple? Why must we be so distant even when we are husband and wife?" he reasoned.

She turned back and looked at him when he said those words. She pictured him holding Natasha in his arms, kissing L'Arachel on her lips, permitting the torture of prisoners with a nod of his head, gambling at some dark underground gambling den with vulgar crude people, making the oath with her father, dancing with some random blond at the Renais Castle and stealing kisses when she was not looking…

Because we will never be a true couple, never really become husband and wife…

She sneered in his face. "You disgust me."

Twisting her wrist out of grasp, she opened the door and slammed it in his face, for the second time in two days.


Dinner was a solemn and awkward affair. Since they had arrived late, Queen Ismaire had already finished dining and two of them were left at the table alone, facing each other and surrounded by expressionless maidservants.

Joshua was unusually quiet, and slightly absent-minded. He accidentally spilled some wine of the tablecloths while he was drinking, a thing he had never done before.

Hesitantly, in the midst of cutting her steak, she sneaked a glance at his face. The paleness of his visage shocked her, and the downcast expression drove an arrow through her arrow. He looked haggard and depressed. She wondered if she had been too harsh with her words. Did they hurt? How deep did they cut him? But it's the truth! She paused. Is it?

His eyes met hers. For a brief second, they looked at each other. She could detect the desperation, sorrow and pain etched in every line of his face, and his hollowed gaze seemed to pierce her heart, leaving it torn and bloody.

Quickly, she dropped her gaze, dropping her fork at the same time. She dived swiftly under the table in the hunt for her fork, groping in the dimness below the tablecloth. Her fingers came into contact into both the coldness of metal and the warmness of another hand.

Looking up, she stared at Joshua, whose hand also rested on the handle of the fork.

She did not move, neither did she remove her fingers from the fork or his hand. He opened his mouth, as though he wanted to say something, then stopped, closing his mouth tightly again. Her bottom lip trembled; she wanted to tell him that she was sorry, that she did not mean what she had said just now, that she was just upset with his callousness towards Stefan…but the words were stuck in her throat, refusing to come out.

She was proud, no doubt. Her mouth refused to open, her tongue refused to form the words, her brain refused to allow her to say the words.

Who would have known that saying an apology would be so hard? He had apologized to her for their argument yesterday, but she could not swallow her pride and humble herself by asking his forgiveness for wounding him thus deeply.

"Prince Joshua? Princess Marisa?" An authoritative voice queried.

Quickly, face blushing with embarrassment, she crawled back and emerged from beneath the tabletop before clambering into her seat with as much dignity she could muster. Opposite her, Joshua did the same, twin spots of pink on his cheeks.

Prime Minister Alexander, a large man with sleek curling green hair that trailed to his shoulders and green eyes that resembled a feline's, curled his lips at the sight. In all his years as minister, he had never seen a pair of royalty emerge from underneath a white tablecloth. Trying to keep a straight face, he bowed. "Your royal highnesses, I apologise for interrupting your dinner, but I am afraid I would require an audience with Princess Marisa."

"Now?" She frowned. Me? He never spoke to me, always to Queen Ismaire or Joshua, but never me. But just as well, she needed to speak to him about his mistreatment of prisoners.

Sir Alexander bowed, giving his affirmation. The attendants behind him held open the door. "In the Room of Compassion if you please."

Aptly chosen. "Sure," she shrugged, casting a last quick gaze at Joshua.

He was wearing the same desolate expression, the one stamped with misery and distress. His eyes followed her every move vacantly.

Joshua…She hesitated. It was so hard even if it was only in her mind. I'm…sorry… With one last look, she swept out of the room.


Author's Note:

As darkblaziken would have suggested, this is rated cherry T. A little on the mildly sour side, but mostly sweet, nothing too explicit for virgin eyes and nothing too disturbing to ensure peace in our digestive systems. ^^ Cherries are good sources of anti-oxidants. I feel slightly reduced now. Sorry, chemistry joke. Pardon a lame joke once in a while.

This isn't really a cliffhanger, but things are starting to move along. After all, I would love to write each chapter into a cherry-flavoured short story but Joshua & Marisa'a relationship progress but decided that that would be the equivalent of nearly no plot, like a fluffy version of P?WP, so lolz but no thanks. The espionage and everything will start to heighten, and things will start to tense up. There will be a motive for everything, and there will be more characters introduced, like this Alexander, and hopefully later maybe I'll bring in the standard villains Valter and Caellach etc? Yup, so keep your eyes peeled and thanks for reading!

Cheerios~ snowylavendermist (Saturday, 9.50 pm, in a state of cherry-induced stupour produced by a JoshuaMarisa kissing scene I just penned and a Legault poster on my desktop XD)