Shackles of Marriage

Marriage is a sacred matrimonial union between two individuals, who have decided to come together and celebrate their love for the rest of their lives. However, not all marriages are based on love; and many are tied by politics, promises, parental ties, roots, inheritance, heritage, customs and culture.

Even within the concept of marriage itself, the couple are subjected to many constraints. Couples are expected to share a room, and continue the family tree. Couples are expected to work together for their common future. Everyone expects the couple to be happy and fulfill their duties to each other. Fidelity, responsibility and sensibility, those are the three rules that govern a marriage and allow the marriage to last.

She grimaced at her new wardrobe, flipping through the flimsy pieces of silk and satin robes in search of something that she could actually wear without tripping herself with every step she took. Her normal linen robes were deemed too coarse for royalty and had thus been confiscated.

Sighing, she took out a long black robe of silk and damask. She loved the feel of the soft satin gliding against her skin as she moved, but the sheer silkiness of the fabric made her uneasy and vulnerable. What if it slipped off my shoulder?

Shrugging off the nagging fear, she proceeded to the dining room. On opening the door, Queen Ismaire was already seated at her seat, silver spoon in hand, coffee in an enamel cup before her.

"Good morning, Marisa," the queen smiled. "Did you sleep well? I asked the chambermaids to give you the softest bedding we have here in the palace, made with swan down."

Acknowledging the comfortable quality of the blankets, she sat in the chair next to Queen Ismaire. A serving maid instantly placed a plate of scrambled eggs before her, along with a cup of coffee.

The food was good, the place was quiet, and the ambience was marvelous. Still, it was extremely unnerving to have fifty maidservants loitering around watching you consume your food, waiting to swoop down and replace your plate the second you completed your first course.

After scrambled eggs, toast, hash browns, as assortment of Danish pastries, she felt somewhat sick looking at the plate of chocolate croissants set before her. "How many courses…are there left?" she asked tentatively. Her abdomen felt as though it was going to burst, and the robe had become uncomfortably tight at the waist.

"Oh! You poor child!" The queen laughed. "You could have just eaten a little or refused the dish altogether instead of eating the entire thing-"

The door slammed open. "Morning mother." Joshua walked in. "Morning Marisa." Pausing beside her seat, he leant in. Before she could dodge, he kissed her on her cheek. "That was for refusing my handshake last night," he whispered so that only they could hear. Sitting down in the chair opposite hers, he took a long swig of water and winked at her. "So, what's for breakfast?"

She was sitting in the cherry tree again.

In merely two days, the tree had lost nearly all of its floral glory. The strong gust the night before had sent almost all of its flowers spinning to the ground, which was now carpeted by a thick layer of pink and white petals.

Glancing at the sea of pink petals beneath her, she smiled bitterly. Where she had once stole and pilfered from was now her home. Where she had once hid in to avoid capture was now where she hid in to get respite from the maidservants bustling about the palace.

Leaning her head against the tree branch, she closed her eyes. The images of Joshua waving his sword danced through her mind.

Unable to resist the temptation, she drew her own sword from its scabbard (one good thing about this palace was that swords were allowed to be worn) and felt the trusty weight of her sword in her hand once more. Her own shamshir was an heirloom from her great-grandmother, who had been a brilliant swordsman. The hilt was worn from use, and the silver had tarnished, but the blade remained sharp as ever, thanks to frequent grinding to maintain the edge.

Gathering momentum, she thrust the blade of the sword forward, then twisted so that she could thrust again in the opposite direction. What did her father teach her again? Parry, strike, parry, strike, twist and turn, stab and block, slash and defend…

The fallen flowers fluttered, roused by the disturbance she had created. She pranced lightly, minding her footwork with great care. Each stroke was delivered with force, each block was accompanied by a firm stance. Her wrist twisted and twirled, turning the blade in all directions, which would have given her an advantage in actual combat. Her footwork was going faster and faster…

Green leaves rained upon her, together with the remaining few petals that had resolutely remained on the trees. Her obscured vision did not impair her swordplay. As her father used to say, even a blind man can be a master swordsman. The most important thing there was the feel, and the love for swords. With the right touch, one would be able to attain the highest possible level of perfection together with their swords.

With a final twirl, she sheathed her shamshir in a fluid sweep. She was panting hard, but she had to admit that the practice was quite pleasant; she had never attempted swordplay in such long robes before. It was fortunate that she had not tripped through one of her twirls.

She turned towards the sound of polite applause.

"I didn't know you where skilled with swords," Joshua said admiringly, approaching her. His own sword swung from its scabbard, hanging from his belt.

"I didn't know you were watching," she replied. Secretly, she was glad, happy to show him that she was good and graceful at something.

"You have really nice, fluid movements," he remarked. "From where I was standing, it looked almost like you were dancing in the wind. It looked pretty good too, with your hair flying, your robes billowing, the petals spinning and the sword shining."

"Yours is…stronger, more defined," she closed her eyes, recounting what she had seen. "You use stronger strokes, and more force, but your footwork is less complex, and you prefer striking harder on your opponents than covering your own back…" She stopped. His crimson pupils were staring intently into hers, making her uncomfortably warm.

"What?" She felt the blood gushing to her cheeks, turning them pink.

"So you were the one watching me in that tree the day before…" he smirked. "No wonder I thought you looked strangely familiar when I saw you yesterday."

She felt her face grow hot at his comment. There was no refuting she had spied on him, and any attempts she made to clarify would only give him more amusement. So she took the wisest option and turned to leave.

"Hey wait!" He grasped her wrist tightly. "Leaving so soon?" He flashed her his trademark smirk. She glared at him. "Aren't you going to spar with me?"

She was taken aback by his invitation. "Spar…with you?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I've been waiting a long time for someone skilled in swords to arrive in the palace. Mother's good, but she prefers staying in her study and doing paperwork. The soldiers are mostly trained in lances and magic, few master in swords. For those that do, I'm already sick of beating them every round."

He beat everyone else, did he? She could never resist a good challenge. Gerik had been her training buddy before this, but he was slow, and his techniques were focused on sheer strength rather than speed, and therefore it made him easy to defeat. As for Joshua…that would likely be another matter all together.

Nodding, she unsheathed her shamshir. "I'm ready."

He moved so quickly that momentarily she was shocked. She leapt out of the way just in time to avoid the blunt edge of his blade from slamming against her wrist. She cursed. He was fast, faster than what she had expected. Definitely faster than Gerik.

He grinned at the sound of the soft swearing coming from her lips and looked up at her, winking. Wasting no time, he brought his blade down again where she had once stood, quick as a flash of lightning. His blade clashed with hers, causing a sharp metallic sound to resound through the courtyard.

She felt the strain as she gripped her sword with both her hands, but although she was already using all her strength, his sword was still pushing hers down dangerously. If she allowed her sword to slip further, the tip of her shamshir would point to the ground and he could easily whip his sword out and place it against her neck.

Swiftly, she slipped her sword from where it was trapped and did a backflip, so that she distanced herself from him. He did not fall as she had expected him to, but instead repositioned his sword and attacked her again.

If she could not win him by strength and skill…it was time to show him what was so miraculous about speed.

With a light but firm step, she leapt atop the lower branches of the cherry tree, causing a shower of leaves and scanty blossoms. She saw him hesitate, then shrug and give chase up the tree. Faster and faster, she climbed the branches of the trees, leaping like a cat from branch to branch. When she reached the top, she looked back at him.

He was fast, but he was not fast enough to catch her.

Smirking slightly at her evident victory, she prepared herself to jump atop the brick palace wall and down back to the ground, leaving him still chasing her behind. When he was steadying himself when he landed, she would land the tip of her shamshir at his royal throat and claim her victory.

A hand firmly gripped her ankle, pulling her down. With a cry, she lost her footing and fell from the branch. She was falling…falling…A pair of hands of caught her in a steady grip in the nick of time, and she found herself staring into the smiling face of Joshua.

Like a practiced veteran, he landed softly amongst the fallen petals and placed her down gently. "I won," he said simply, smirking.

"You cheated," she accused angrily. For her, sword fighting was a thing of integrity; one should not resort to tricks to win the match. "Let go of me."

"No, swordplay is not just about swords, it's about quick thinking and intuition," he smirked wider, tightening his grip on her waist. "Come on, don't struggle. We're husband and wife. Why are you so reserved? Is it not right for a husband to touch his spouse?"

"We're husband and wife in name only." She narrowed her eyes and forced his hands off her. "I'm only your wife because my father owes you money."

He stared at her for a moment, then held his hands up in defeat. "Very well, if you say so." He turned to leave. "Oh, but for a woman, you spar pretty well. That's one less thing to teach you to prepare you for being a princess."

"Teach?" she sputtered. "What else is there?"

He turned back momentarily. "Horseback riding and…dancing…" The corners of his mouth were twitching violently. Evidently, he was on the verge of laughing. "I think I'm going to enjoy myself…See you later."

To her indignation, he walked off laughing loudly.

Author's Note:

Phew! Another chapter done! Recently this author is having a pretty nice long carefree holiday, and thus can afford to invest time and energy to write the chapters of this fanfiction =D

I understand that for the last part, an Oriental princess was not exactly expected to dance, ride a horse or use a sword. Technically, all they had to do was try and bear children. But for the sake of the story, let's just assume that this is a very globalised Orient, where magic flies free, spies roam around and people waltz on marble wearing Venetian masks.

Cheerios. Remember to review!