Shackles of Choice

They always did say that each and every one of us has the freedom of choice, right? Theoratically yes, but only in idealistic situations. The truth is that everyone of us is tied down by so many responsibilties that we cannot cannot choose sometimes, but has to settle for what is the option that is available.

For example, you can choose a killing edge at a weapon shop. But guess what? You are a sage, you don't know how to use a killing edge. Or even better, you can use a killing edge but you don't have the money to buy it.

Things sped past as she spent her days lying down, mostly uselessly, on the bed. Not that she minded. For one, she rested fully and regained full health. Every bit of listlessness had been expelled from her body. For two, she had overcome her emotional barrier and now stood as an independent young woman, ready to defend her own interests in this web of intrigue in this palace, which she had somehow gotten herself involved in. For three, she no longer loved Joshua. When he walked into the same room as she did, she no longer felt that rapid pounding of her heart and her heavy breathing, neither did she feel the blush creeping to her cheeks nor the feeling of warmth of tenderness, so she was out of love, right?

As such, on the fine morning when the nurses, led by Natasha, examined her and declared her fit to roam the palace grounds again, all she did was smile politely at them, waited patiently till they left, dismissed Belle from the room, close the door behind them and reflect on everything she had deduced in her introspective period of confinement.

Things were looking well. Once she survived this conflict, she could patiently wait for Joshua to become king and she would be free, liberal to do whatever she wanted again. No more titles, no more responsibilities, no more seeing the odious faces of guests and ministers (especially not Prime Minister Alexander). Little wonder she found herself anticipating her expulsion from the palace, a circumstance that most would find dreadful and horrifying.

She had friends to go to, a mansion to live in (she didn't particularly care about the dust and dirt, those could be repaired and cleaned), and something to do (continue living as a mercenary and climbing cherry trees). Or if she felt really adventurous, she recalled with a laugh, she could always accept Saleh's offer and open a cherry patisserie selling all sorts of goodies stuffed with cherries and cherry fillings.

Only that she would possibly end up eating everything that was supposed to be filling the store shelves.

And that was if she didn't blow the kitchen to pieces first. Given her culinary skills, she would possibly become a pastry chef the day it rained shamshirs.

Contemplatively, she looked out into the garden. Winter had come and gone. The snowflakes had been brushed away they melted into puddles of water. The old cherry tree, the one that she used to sit in, was sprouting new leaves and buds. In a few weeks, the new foliage would unfold and the buds would, hopefully, blossom into lovely new cherry blossoms, just as exquisite and beautiful as last year's had been.

All they needed was time.

Rising, she went to open the window. Taking deep breaths, she inhaled the fresh spring air, relishing in the sweet perfume of the spring flowers. She could smell lilies…anemones…hyacinths…plum blossoms…After being cooped up for so long in a room with only the smell of linen and medicines to keep her company, the refreshing scent was very welcomed indeed.

Perhaps I should go and pick a fresh bouquet for my room…

The smile faded from her lips. Now that I'm recovered…does that mean that Joshua will be sharing the bed with me again? Where has he been sleeping while I was ill? She frowned darkly. Possibly with a certain cleric in the infirmary, looking after his baby Henry and trying to produce another to name him James or something.

"You know that frowning too much is not good for your face, you'll get premature wrinkles."

She gasped as she opened her eyes to see Rennac outside the window, carrying a large bouquet of flowers in his arms and reclining lazily against the windowpane.

"I didn't know you were here," she said finally. "You scared me." She turned to go in and sit on the bed.

Skillfully, he flipped himself over the windowsill and landed quietly on the carpet, like a cat with padded paws. "Phew!" He clutched his nose. "Your room smells like the infirmary! Eww! Gross! These flowers will wilt inside here thanks to the smell!"

"Thanks for reminding me," she replied dryly, taking the flowers from him and hunted for an empty vase. "I have been cooped up in this damned henhouse for the past three months." She reached out and locked the door.

He whirled around to face her at the sound of the door locking. "You…" He pointed nervously at the door. "Aren't going to keep me inside and murder me in cold blood in your bathtub, are you?"

She rolled her eyes. "That is exactly what I intend to do," she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Get your sorry self into the bathtub and let's get it over and done with. I promise you a grand funeral."

He looked relieved at sarcasm, his tense facial muscles relaxing into a grin. "People are going to get awfully suspicious. If your husband knows about this, he'll carve a hole in my face the size of a plate."

She stared at him, arms folded. "There is already talk about the two of us."

He looked at her, shrugged, and sat on the armchair, placing his feet on the table. "And you still entertain me in your private bedroom?" He snickered, examining a gold ornament. "Aren't you afraid of the rumours?"

"If I am truly afraid I will have chopped you up in the bathtub by now," she said monotonously. "Fried Rennac pieces with onion and leeks."

He paused. "Heh, if it hadn't been me, it would actually have been pretty funny." He held up the ornament he had been fingering. "Mind giving me a present?"

"Joshua may notice," she remarked, noting in amusement the speed at which Rennac swiftly replaced the ornament on the mantelpiece. "You scared of him?"

He shook his head. "Not really," he shrugged. "I'm just a little lazy to fight him off. I'm not bad with a sword, but it's pretty tiring and boring."

"You live in a very inert manner," she commented, arranging the flowers. "Lilies; at least you have good taste."

"Hey, I resent that!" Rennac declared hotly. "I'm charming and all and I am not inert. I came all the way here just to see if you have died yet."

She arched an eyebrow. That was so comforting. "And if you found me dead, what would you do?"

He scratched his chin, shaking his leg. "Dump the flowers on your grave, say sorry for not accompanying you when you were dying and proceed to filch everything of value from your room while everyone is mourning."

She laughed. Crude as he was, at least he was one person who was honest to her in this bold web of lies.

There was a knock on the door, and he bolted to the window, frozen with fear. She, too, froze where she had been examining the flowers. If they remained quiet enough, the servants may think that she had fallen asleep and leave her alone.

Finally, the footsteps went away.

He heaved a sigh of relief. "That was close."

She shot him a surprised glance. "You are unusually jumpy."

"It's hard to not be jumpy when there had been five murder attempts on you for the past week," he snapped. "One for every day of the week."

"Five?" She frowned. Even she had not had so many. Twice a year was still considered a miniscule amount compared to more prominent people like Lord Ephraim and Prince Innes.

"Yeah," he replied glumly. "Twice, I was walking when strange masked people threw throwing stars at my throat. Once was a murder attempt when I was sleeping; fortunately I woke up just before he dissected my throat. The other time was poison in my wine; my servant died thanks to that. The last time was at the Rausten Court, somebody tried to strangle within the palace." He shook his leg. "Nowhere is safe nowadays." He paused and grinned. "Maybe except here."

She arched an eyebrow.

"You frighten all those assassins away. Jehanna seems to be the least intruded place in the entire of Magvel. Heck, the Rausten Court is full of all those assassins." He huffed. "The Palaces of Renais and Frelia have long been infiltrated, even before the times of war. Did you hear, the war minister of Renais had been assassinated last week?"

"Really." She frowned. Scarcely any of my business. He was probably one of those pudgy lords who ate too much. "But why would they want to kill you? You are hardly of any importance."

Rennac stood up and puffed to his full height. "I would have you know that I am the only son of the Carcino best arms and weaponry merchant," he said indignantly. "Those Grado spies probably think that by killing me, they can stop the sales of weaponry from Carcino into Frelia and Rausten, which doesn't work because my father controls the trade and he is nearly undefeatable. So much help my death would do." He yawned. "The thing about Grado is, they don't have very good spies. The best ones are from Jehanna, like you. I think Grado will want to recruit you. Their assassins' aim SUCKS, mind you; and they hardly know their agenda and the way to accomplish their aims. Unfortunately, there are only so many times a throwing star can fly at you before one makes a hole on your bottom." He concluded, playing with the gold chain of one of her necklaces.

"They have a lot of soldiers," she commented.

"Yeah, so I better watch my back these few days," he said dryly. "Otherwise I may not survive to see my father for summer."

"Where are you going to hide then?" she asked.

He shrugged. "No idea. The entire world is cloaked in danger and traps. Everyday I feel as though I'm walking into a legion of traps and ambushes."

They sat in silence. She was stroking the waxy petals of the white lilies, while he sat with his feet on the table and his eyes glued on the ruby of the necklace he was fondling.

"Oh, yeah." He said suddenly. "I just remembered, I've got something for you." He fumbled in his trouser pockets and turned out nothing. Reaching deep into his shirt pockets, he hunted around. Still nothing. Sighing, he groped his cloak, trying to find whatever he was going to give her. "Ah, here it is." He handed her a grubby looking package.

"May I?" Seeing his nod, she untied the coarse string and unwrapped the package, squinting at the array of things lying within. "This is?"

"My father's latest inventions for stealth attacks," he explained. "These are some of his ideas, and not all will be marketed. The best prototypes he always hands to me to try and keep me save. Much help it does."

She eyed set of needles, very much like those you find in an embroidery basket, with caution. They looked innocently harmless, but she had a bad feeling of what they would do if they came into contact with flesh.

"Throwing knives are large; throwing stars are thick; they're both easy to detect and dodge," Rennac explained. "So my father devised these throwing needles instead. You throw them in the direction of your opponent. The streamlined shape makes it easy to fly in a straight line through air, and it's small, so it makes it hard to see until it pokes into flesh. The tip is coated with deadly venom and Gorgon blood, in dosages high enough to kill instantaneously." He took the pack and demonstrated. "You hide them inside your belt like this, and when you need one, just jab it at your opponent."

"And this?" She asked, holding up a fan.

"My favourite," he said. "You use it as a normal weapon." He opened the fan in a swift motion and sharpened darts tore from the fan, hitting the wall behind her. "Not bad huh?"

She smiled. The inventions did seem pretty useful. "Are these for me?"

"Technically, yes, choose one," he said generously. "I'll just tell my father that I used up the needles." He wrapped up the package again. "You sure you aren't leaving?"

She halted where she had been admiring the shiny reflection of sunlight off the needles. Was she sure? She had been sure. But was she sure now?

I…I don't know…

"No."

"No as in, not sure? Or not leaving?" he persisted.

"Neither." She sighed as she hid the case of needles on the inside of her belt. "I don't know."

He snickered. "Still pining over lover boy?"

"No," she refuted sharply. She was out of love with Joshua. OUT of love. It was over. OVER.

"Really?" He sniggered again, pocketing the small package in one of his deep pockets.

"Yes," she hissed.

"I have the feeling that somehow, you are pretty much in a state of denial induced by your own delusions and misguided wants," he observed. "Hey!" He dodged the vase that flew at his head, smashed against the wall behind him and smashed. "Those lilies were expensive…" he lamented, bending down to pick them up again. "Come on, little lily bouquet, let's give you to L'Arachel. Maybe she'll like you little recycled posy better than Mrs. Grouch over here."

A cushion flew towards his head and smacked him right on the back of his head.

"Score one," she drawled, flinging herself down on the couch. Her hands itched. She wanted a good spar, wanted to lift her sword once more, feel the rustle of the wind blowing while she swung her sword with precision and strength. She feared that if she remained cooped in his cage for any longer, she would begin suffering from muscular atrophy sooner or later.

The loss of her skills would be terrible. Those were the only things that she could always depend on.

"Let's spar." She grabbed her shamshir, unsheathed it and pointed it at his head.

He gave her the look as though he was speaking to a lunatic. "Are you mad?" He cried, flabbergasted. "You just recovered, for one. For two, you are currently in a room that is choked with all kinds of glassware and porcelain stuff. For three, I…" He turned around in a full circle. "Am not carrying anything vaguely like a weapon besides those things my father gave me."

"Urgh!" Throwing her hands in the air, she flopped down on the couch again, looking at him in relative distaste. "Who the heck leaves their house without their sword, lance, axe, bow and arrow, staves or tomes?"

"Me!" Rennac's hand shot high into the air. "And Innes I think…I never see him carrying his bow and quiver around, unless he is practicing. But off course that is assuming that he only knows how to use a bow." He made a face. "For all we know, he knows how to use a mini axe which he hangs from his boot or something."

She rolled her eyes. "Nonsen-"

There was a knock on the door. "Princess Marisa! The Queen wishes to see you now at the Hall of Serenity!"

She stiffened and looked at Rennac, who, taking the hint, concealed himself behind the drapery. Rising, she opened the door.

"Your highness!" Belle bowed. "Queen Ismaire gave orders that she wants to see you at the Hall of Serenity now. She is with the Prince and the Lord Fulrer of Carcino and his esteemed daughter."

She nodded. "I'll be there." Turning around, she slammed the door.

"Lord Fulrer?" Rennac crept out from behind the drapery. "He's one of the senior senators in Carcino, specializes in architecture and city planning for the nation."

"What's he like?" She asked, arranging her hair.

"Disgusting vile putrid old man." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Too much scheming, too much white hair, too little leisure time, too few good words for anyone besides his obnoxious family and friends. His daughter is said, however, to be a rare beauty. She never appears in public; I've never seen her." He grinned. "Think I could hide under your skirt or something?"

She flung another pillow at him. "Get out by the window. I won't see you out." She opened the door. "Oh, and take the necklace you were playing with if you want, I don't want it." She slammed the door behind her.

The Hall of Serenity was brightly lit, even though it was broad daylight outside and the sunlight streamed in through the open windows.

The servants announced her, and she stepped into the room, blinking uncomfortably at the incense that was burning in the burner. It was spicy and strangely exotic, but it did not appeal to her olfactory senses. She sniffed.

"Your highness." The man on the couch rose and bowed respectfully. "A pleasure to be of acquaintance. I am Lord Fulrer of Carcino." His voice was rough and raspy, like the sound of a creaking gate that had been abandoned and not oiled for decades. A few sparse grey patches of thin hair spread out over his balding scalp, and his features were wrinkled and pinched, giving the appearance of old age. However, his eyes were round, dark and beady, resembling a rat's.

This man…he's not what he seems to be at first glance…She deduced swiftly. He has got his ulterior motives.

Beside him stood a young lady, approximately of her own age. She was tall, almost as tall as Joshua, but slender and willowy like a graceful pliant flower. Her complexion was flawless and fashionably pale, with slightly flushed cheeks that seemed only to highlight her high cheekbones. Her pale yellow hair was long, and fell loosely down her back. It resembled fine gold threads, sparkling under the sunlight. Her eyes were twin pools of aqua, beneath long gold-flecked eyelashes. Her nose was classically small, and her lips were the colour of rubies. When she smiled, her red lips parted to reveal two perfect lines of white pearly teeth.

Lord Fulrer noticed her looking. "And this is my daughter, Helen."

Helene smiled at her and swept her a perfect curtsey. "A pleasure to be of acquaintance, your highness." Her voice was like the sound of chiming spring bells, or sparkling spring water running down the slops. It was a golden voice, a honeyed voice, a voice she could never hope to have.

A little knot of annoyance tugged at her persistently. She disliked these rich lords' daughters and sons who looked perfect as a picture but could scarcely hold a sword without injuring themselves in the process. Ornamental people, she thought in distaste. Strictly for decorative purposes only. And one wonders where the term 'trophy wife' came from.

She forced a smile, and took a seat on the couch opposite Lord Fulrer and his daughter. Queen Ismaire sat perpendicular from her right, wearing a look of serene peace and blissful happiness as she sipped her tea indulgently. Joshua sat next to her, but his face was tense and his jaw was set.

"Marisa, I called you because we were at a deadlock, and we could hardly solve this without external intervention," Queen Ismaire explained. "Joshua suggested that you were perhaps a stakeholder as well, and thus asked for your presence here with us. Is that agreeable with you?"

She nodded. "The issue at hand would be?"

Queen Ismaire nodded at Lord Fulrer, signaling for him to continue.

"Well you see, your highness, Magvel is on the brink of a continental war, and thus in order to ensure that Grado does not manage to eliminate us one by one," he explained. "It would be imperative to forge ties of aid and alliances so as to assist one another in times of need, right?"

She nodded. "Continue."

"Well, this form of alliance comes in many types, you see," Lord Fulrer continued explaining. "There are treaties, such as the Renais-Frelia pact and the Grado-Renais Treaty, the latter having sadly been broken recently. There are also promises, like Prince Innes' promises to deliver aid to Lord Ephraim should the threat arise from Grado due to their common interests and common enemy. However, the first two are limited in their scope of alliance, since it is all but words and ink on paper. Promises cannot even be verified in the future, while paper can be burnt and destroyed. However there is this one strong binding alliance that would secure all forms of diplomacy between two nations in the simplest of all manners." He leant in closer and said the word in a hoarse whisper.

"Marriage."

The air seemed to have frozen for a minute, with everyone staring at her reaction.

Sorry to disappoint, but she had no expression whatsoever.

Lord Fulrer looked stunned at her lack of reaction, and knitted his brows. "I assume your highness caught my last word?"

"Yes," she said, waving her hand irritably. Why do people always think I don't understand them when I don't show any expression? Isn't it standard to keep a straight face when discussing diplomatic issues, or even every day matters for that?

He looked briefly at his daughter, as though contemplating what to say at her lack of response, before opening his mouth to continue.

"Jehanna and Carcino have been on relatively good terms ever since the founding of Carcino. As such, the Senate is hopeful that such a lasting and historical alliance will not be broken in the face of this impending catastrophe, which would certainly be a sacrilege to our forefathers' heroic efforts. Carcino may not have a large army, indeed, most of our defenders are hired from Jehanna, but Carcino is a mercantile nation. We deal in all kinds of goods, from weaponry to foodstuffs. These things are indubitably necessities in the face of this looming crisis. Jehanna has a large well-built and sophisticated army, more than capable of defending their home soil. But Grado has soldiers, many more times the number of soldiers Jehanna possesses. Without the essential equipment, food and other supplies, Jehanna may fall whilest battling. That is of course, the worst-case scenario. As such, for the mutual benefit of our nations, I propose an alliance of marriage."

"And who is marrying who?" She asked, slightly amused. Maybe this old man would ask to marry Queen Ismaire. That would be hilarious. But wait…he brought his daughter along, and Rennac said his daughter was a reclusive bedroom kind of girl…so it must be his daughter and…

"Prince Joshua and my daughter, Helen," he said, confirming her hypothesis.

"Is it not bigamy?" she asked. Truth to be told, she could scarcely care if Joshua married a whole harem of beautiful women, each younger than the other. She no longer loved him, and what he did was of little concern to her. He can go marry a dancing chimpanzee if he wants to!

But to be part of a bigamy ploy…her lips curled in distaste at the idea. It would sully her name, and it would be degrading for her. The least they could do was confirm the engagement and marry after she got out of the palace.

"Oh no!" Lord Fulrer smiled. Rennac was right; this man is odious. "Royalty and nobility have the choice of several wives if they choose. Of course, it would scarcely threaten your position and standing, your highness. My daughter would gladly be the concubine, and be subservient towards you and your decisions. It would be no trouble at all. Absolutely no trouble at all." He looked towards Queen Ismaire. "Of course, there would be the additional chance of an heir being born quickly."

So that was what he had used to convince Queen Ismaire of his plan. The Queen sat looking more contented than ever, evidently happy with the plan and the idea of having another prospective daughter-in-law and a grandchild.

So if Queen Ismaire agrees, and Joshua, that philanderer, agrees…what exactly is the problem? "And why am I involved?"

"Oh you see," Lord Fulrer explained courteously. "We thought that you would be a major stakeholder in the plans so we decided that it would be for the best if you would give your consent as well…"

Joshua coughed, the first noise he made ever since she entered the room. "The problem is this: Mother agrees, but I don't agree. So it is a deadlock and they want you to say yes or no so it would no longer be an even vote."

Lord Fulrer paled. His smile vanished, replaced by a thin hard line.

Helen seemed not to have heard anything.

"Joshua!" Queen Ismaire chided warningly. "Watch your tone."

Joshua swallowed. "That is the truth."

Queen Ismaire sighed and turned to her. "I know, Marisa, that this may be hard on you, but you understand that from a mother's and a queen's perspective, the situation is dire. Having…another bride would help Joshua, and help the throne. So…consider this as another favour I have of you, allow this marriage and the union between Lady Helen and my son."

Is she using a command on me? Marisa pondered. But Joshua…he surprises me…the girl is an ethereal beauty and he doesn't want her? What a contradiction to his nature! Did he drink too much last night and thus he's having a delusional hangover now or something?

"So your highness?" Lord Fulrer smiled hopefully, baring his yellow teeth. "Do you agree?"

Leading question.

"Do you consent?" Queen Ismaire asked.

More leading questions.

"Marisa…"

She glanced thoughtfully at the ceiling when there was in fact nothing to think about. The answer was very clear in her mind, and she had already decided on the answer even before Lord Fulrer began his advertising.

She was lost from love; but others still had the chance.

"Why not?" she smiled.

Author's Note:

I can't believe I did that to Marisa *weeps* Oh, and Helen is modelled after Helen of Troy, like epic beauty queen.

Never like old fat wheezy lordlings, waddling ducks, all of them. Especially those with scheming minds.

~ snowylavendermist