Shackles of Regulations
Rules and regulations have always been regular shackles, restricting one's freedom and ability to do what they wish. Whether right or wrong, with the intention of protection or destruction, regulations inevitably are still shackles, no matter how lovely the prospects they offer.
Some regulations include protocol. It restricts the things one can do in a particular setting. Just because there is disagreement, one cannot simply solve it by tearing at each others' throats. Things are done over coffee and tea, over polite words with insinuating messages, with underlying currents. There are procedures to doing tasks, permission must be obtained, the people-in-charge informed, and the deed done.
Other regulations have been instilled in us since young. Do not steal; do not murder; do not take advantage of others' misery. When one is married, be faithful to your spouse. When others' give you things, thank them. And no matter how liberal we are, how carefree we think we are, we are never free from these regulations, because eyes and ears are always wide open around us, listening, seeing, and judging.
The tea steamed in a ceramic cup before her, sitting quaintly on the coffee table imported from Carcino.
She steamed as she stared coldly at the prime minister who was daintily examining his carefully manicured fingernails as he reported the information he had managed to force out of Stefan using his horsewhip.
"According to the prisoner," Sir Alexander said as he examined the texture of his hair. "He is a citizen of Carcino, who had wandering around exploring the world when he accidentally stumbled against your royal highnesses. He wishes to say that he had no intention whatsoever to harm your royal highness, and that he was acting out of self-defense. The throwing stars he carried were only for practical uses against bandits and wild animals, but he used them because he mistakenly judged himself to be in a dangerous predicament."
"So you're saying that I look like a common bandit or a wild animal," Marisa said coldly. That man was grating her nerves. First he examined his manicure, then he fondled his hair and now he proceeded to stroke his green stubbles! She turned away in disgust.
"Oh your majesty! Your royal highness!" He stopped indulging in self-stroking and prostrated himself before her. "I had no such intention. It was merely a statement of no harm, and in no way does your royal highness resemble a vile bandit or a wild beast. Your royal highness is the goddess of beauty herself reincarnated.
Fir the first time in her life, she fully learnt to appreciate the presence of a coffee table. It served as a barrier between her and the prostrate Sir Alexander; without it, Marisa was confident he would be crawling over to kiss her toenails to beg her forgiveness. Revolted by the idea, she turned away from Sir Alexander. The man was really something! Sheer flattery and adulation seemed to pour out of his every orifice, and his voice oozed a certain oiliness that made him appear glib.
She mentally questioned Queen Ismaire's choice of appointing him to the prominent role of prime minister.
Five minutes had passed, yet Sir Alexander was still sprawled on the ground, rambling on and on about the virtues of her beauty and how he was deeply sorry and mollified by his own ridiculous and absurd words and how he wished to repay her kindness for not beheading him that instant by kissing her shoes (which she immediately hid under the long skirt of her robes).
"Sir Alexander?" she queried with as much politeness she could muster. Civility was wasted on this man, but no less, there was a need for it to be used in this case. "Please rise and take a seat."
The prime minister sprang to his feet instantly and propelled himself to the couch, launching into another flood of praise and thanks.
This man is giving me a headache. She grimaced.
"Sir Alexander," she interrupted him before she exceeded her threshold of patience. "As prime minister, brevity is no doubt a forte of yours. Would you like to…"
Sir Alexander was a born flatterer, but he was no idiot; the meaning of the words sank in instantly. "Ahh…" he said. The smile on his face became slightly forced. "As your highness desires." He clapped his hands twice, and from the adjacent room came a maid dressed in the standard black and white dress.
"This," he pointed to the maid, who looked slightly younger than she was. "This is Belle, your new personal maidservant. As a result of the recent encounters with spies and assassins, the house of ministers have decided to employ a special maidservant for your royal highness. Belle is skilled in martial arts and in insider information, and thus the house feels that it would be beneficial for you to have someone like this in case of another emergency."
"Does Joshua have a similar companion? Does Queen Ismaire have a similar guard stationed around her all the time?" she demanded. If they did not have a permanent maidservant hanging around them to ensure their safety, why should she be the one to get that special treatment?
"Well your highness…" Sir Alexander had the grace to appear flustered. "Since your highness has the tendency to run into difficulties…the house decided that it was …most cost-effective to safeguard your royal highness only amongst the members of the royal family."
"Does the house of ministers mean that I am incapable of taking care of my own safety?" She responded icily.
Sir Alexander pursed his lips and fell to his knees again. "Your royal highness, my lady!" He exclaimed in a fit of passion. "The house of ministers is not disparaging your esteemed highness adroit handling of a sword. It's just that…your highness has the unfortunate propensity to land yourself in a misfortunate skirmish with ruffians such as the Grado spies and Carcino explorers, and thus we, who always place the interests of your highness in our hearts, decided to implement this new preventive measure, a sad policy that infringes on your highness' personal space and weighs heavily on our hearts." He finished his lengthy explanation with an exaggerated expression of remorseful sorrow and clasped hands above his chest.
She refrained from rolling her eyes. If she ever became the queen (which was not likely in the first place since she had no intention of remaining as Joshua's consort once she found that darned oath paper), the first thing she would do would be to force this man's resignation.
Sir Alexander took her silence as submission, and waved the maidservant forward. She was a shy petite girl, perhaps a few years younger Marisa herself, with the rosy blush of a newly trained servant delighted to serve. Her red plaits bounced as she dropped a quick curtsey. There was a sparkle in her eye that suggested a certain degree of discerning sharpness and the capability of finding out things she wanted.
"Your highness," the girl, Belle, chortled. "I will be your new maidservant. Please, in the future, tell me about all your grieves and I would try my best to serve your royal highness to the best of my limited abilities."
How modest, she marveled. Humility was one of the qualities she lacked, and thus she admired it in the people around her. She had a feeling that the girl was going to play a crucial role in her upcoming life.
"Does your royal highness have any duties for me to fulfill?" Belle continued, eyes wide with excitement. "I would be very happy to assist your highness in any way." Her head bobbed up and down to reaffirm her joy at being useful.
"Well…" she hesitated. Being a member of the royal family was rather busy, but being the princess also meant a lot of duties were given to the prince instead of her, so she was pretty free most of the time. The dusting was done this morning, the tables were cleared, and laundry had been hung to dry. What else could there be? She racked her brains as she tried to think of an uncompleted task that she could put this eager girl in charge of. "Ah…" She finally thought of something. "The royal dressmaker said that the new dresses would be ready today. Could you find him and take the dresses and send them to Queen Ismaire's chambers please?"
Belle bowed and sped off to complete her task.
"I assure you, your highness," Sir Alexander bowed, smiling obnoxiously. "Belle may seem like a simple vulgar country maid, but her appearance belies her capabilities. She will not disappoint you."
"Sir Alexander," she turned to face him. "I was wondering if we could talk about something that has caught my attention recently."
"As your highness wishes," he bowed again.
She minced no words to get straight to her point. "I noticed that your treatment of our prisoner had been deplorable the last time I visited his cell," she said flatly. "Would you care to explain why the horsewhip was used out of the stables?"
Sir Alexander laughed lightly. "Your highness is certainly very humorous indeed," he said, a pale smile stretched over his features. "The prisoner is, naturally, subjected to torture to enable him to confess whatever that he knows. And based on prior experience, your highness, a horsewhip is a good torture instrument, not lethal enough to kill, but painful enough to make them spill, a little of blood and a little of knowledge. Why would your highness object to that?"
"It's unethical," she said simply.
"Unethical!" Sir Alexander laughed louder. "Your highness, was that man being ethical when he stabbed you in the shoulder? Why be ethical to someone who had harmed you before?"
"You do not return an eye for an eye," she said calmly. "Jehanna is a civilized country, and we will not resort to brutal barbaric methods of outlawed torture in order to make someone speak!"
A vein throbbed visibly in Sir Alexander's temple, and his hands clenched into fists. His cheeks were stained with pink blotches. His voice came out, controlled and flat, but trembling with subdued rage and restrained fury. "The princess may find that she stands alone on this issue, for both the Prince and her royal highness the Queen herself has given the agreement for his torture."
"Is it?" she replied coolly. "Should we go and confirm with them right now, whether they have given you the nod to torture a prisoner until he was covered in dried blood and bruises?" She stood up and headed for the door. "Come, Sir Alexander! It's a matter of truth or false; it'll be verified in no time."
"I advise you not to, princess," the voice that stopped her was silky and smooth, but carried an undercurrent of danger and menace. "The guards have had some…very juicy information…that they would perhaps like to share with the others. If you are not careful, princess, you may find that one day…what transpired in that cell may just…leak out." He smiled cruelly. "I don't think the Prince would be very happy to know of your intimacy with a prisoner."
She opened her mouth to refute him, then shut it again before the words spilled out. He had the upper hand, and he had the capability to destroy her credibility and reputation with one swipe of his hand. The aces were in his hand, and there was no way she could win this round.
"Have it your way, Minister," she said stiffly. "Although it would be most kind of you to stop torturing poor innocent souls such as Carcino explorers, as you said."
He smiled, revealing sharp white teeth. "I am glad we have reached a mutual consensus, your highness." He reached for the door and swept her a bow. "It would be lovely if we could continue this agreement of non-intrusion and non-intervention. I believe it would be the best for both of us." With a last contemptuous smile, he left the room.
"From one hall to the next," she muttered under her breath. Seeing people and giving them whatever was expected of a princess was not her cup of tea. Got a problem? Fight it out. Lost your donkey? Go hire Gerik and find it for you! Need money? Go work, rob, steal, kill, whatever! Go solve your problems by yourself! What use is there of flocking to the princess to ask her to resolve a petty dispute over the ownership of a hen? Did she look like a poultry expert?
She pushed open the door, and all her previous discontent and annoyance evaporated swiftly. "Saleh!" she exclaimed in delight, resisting the urge to fling herself into his embrace. After that traumatic and tiring experience with the scheming Sir Alexander, a visit from an old friend did seem appealing.
Saleh gave her a small shy smile. "It's good to see you again, Marisa," he said softly. "You look well."
She laughed. "Being a princess has its benefits," she admitted, examining his visage. "I'm beginning to put on weight here." She took a seat next to him. "Saleh, if only you look half as well as I do," she said wistfully. His eyes were sunken in and framed with dark circles from exhaustion. He looked pale and tired, almost like a person suffering from anemia. His lips were a faded pink. His curls were limp and dry, having none of the glossy texture it once possessed. She briefly wondered if his health had deteriorated because of her.
At her remark, he self-consciously touched his face. "Do I really look that awful?" he asked earnestly, a frown appearing on his face.
She longed to lie to him, but it was time that he was aware of his own deteriorating health. "Saleh, you are pale. And you look extremely tired," she nodded. "Have you not been sleeping well?"
"I haven't slept well ever since you came here," he sighed heavily. His deep eyes looked at her with such longing and tenderness that she understood in a flash. Uncertain of how to respond, she sat looking at her lap, blushing.
"I always wonder if they treat you well in the palace," he continued. "I ponder over whether you have adjusted to your new life, whether they take care of you well, whether they accord you the respect you deserve. I cannot help myself but have an aversion towards that man-Prince Joshua. He has something he should treasure, but yet he is letting it slip between his fingers as though it was worthless like sand. Every night when I look at the ceiling, I see your face, giving me a beautiful smile, and I can't bear to sleep anymore, knowing that if I sleep, I won't see that lovely sight anymore." He rubbed his eyes. "I apologise Marisa, am I boring you?"
She shook her head vigorously. "Saleh…" She had wanted to tell him of the palace intrigues, about the assassination plots, but now she hesitated, fearing that it would only heighten his anxiety and add to his burden.
"Enough talk about me, Marisa," he gave her another smile. "I brought you something today, something that you would definitely like. I thought you might even miss it."
Her eyes widened in surprise as he took out a small basket, weaved from bamboo plates. She gave a gasp of delight as he uncovered the basket to reveal a basketful of ripe purplish cherries, with droplets of water sparkling on their surfaces.
"The old cherry tree did not fail our expectations," he said. "It yielded a lot of cherries this year again, but without you around, it was still loaded with fruit when I walked past yesterday. I thought you might like it, so I picked a basket of the best ones I could find for you. Do you like it?" His smile widened as she nodded her head in joy, savoring a cherry from the basket. "Since I can't be with you to pick cherries this year, consider this as a token of my apology, Marisa."
"Saleh…" She could see the nostalgia in his eyes. The fond memories that were kept tightly under lock and key sprung forth like a tide, assaulting her mind with the images of warm summers, cherry trees by the river, ripe round cherries without the slightest blemish, and of him, when his brown curls still had their luster and his complexion was still healthy and rosy.
She was a little girl of five, a greedy little thing who crammed things into her mouth to feed her insatiable hunger and curiosity.
The cherry tree was tall (to a five year old, it was REALLY tall), but its branches were laden with fruits. She had waited and waited, but never once did the cherries drop down from the wind, and so she never had a taste of what the cherries tasted like.
She cast a longing look at the ripe sun-kissed fruits hanging enticingly before her eyes. It looked so near, yet so far!
No matter, today was the day she would have a taste of the cherries, for she would conquer the heights of the cherry tree and climb up the tree trunk onto the branches!
She may have been merely five, but her movements were agile and fast, and she was a nimble child, adroit at scaling walls and creeping up rough surfaces. The tree trunk was rough from the bark, and thus climbing the tree should prove itself as no difficult task.
Rubbing her hands together in glee from the thoughts of her fruits of victory (no pun intended in her little child-like mind), she grabbed the tree and hoisted herself up
One step up, now two steps up. She was making progress inching up the tree. It definitely was harder than she thought, for some of the bark was loose and peeled off easily. Neither could her little hands find a grip on the large tree that she could use to support herself. Finding a little crevice as a handgrip on the trunk, she clambered up the trunk hurriedly, climbing onto a thick tree branch.
The cherries hung at the ends of the branches in thick clumps, nestled amongst the green leaves. She stretched her little arm as far as she could, straining for her prize, but her hands missed the cherries by just a little. Slowly, she inched herself nearer to the cherries, nearer…still nearer…nearly there…
With a loud crack, she felt herself falling through air. She flailed, getting ready for the pain and the heavy impact that would surely bring tears to her eyes and leave bruises on her arms and legs.
"Oof!" She had landed, not on the ground, but on someone. Her rescuer had cushioned her fall, but was now sprawled on the grass. A book lay on the grass a short distance away, fallen from her rescuer's hand.
"Are you alright?" A warm gentle voice asked. She looked up to see the brightest pair of eyes she had ever seen on anyone.
She nodded vehemently. "Thank you," she said politely.
"Were you climbing the cherry tree?" he laughed as she nodded her head again. "Wow, you are brave for your age. That tree is pretty tall." He brushed the grass from his clothes and undid his cape. "But just as well, your fall brought down a shower of cherries, so you can eat to your heart's content.
She clapped, elated. She was finally going to savour those tempting fruits! But just as she was about to put one into her mouth, he plucked the cherry out of her fingers and shook his head.
"You have to wash them first, otherwise you might fall sick after eating," he chided, gathering up the cherries and placing them on his cape.
She watched mutely and tailed him as he carried the cherries to the river and washed them one by one.
"Wash your hands too," he reminded.
Obediently, she placed her grubby hands in the sparkling water and rubbed until the mud and sand came off.
"Now you can eat," he gestured generously to the heap of washed cherries on his cape.
Eagerly, she took two handfuls and crammed five cherries into her mouth at once, nearly choking. They were so sweet and ripe! Delighted, she reached out for another handful even before she had finished the first.
He laughed. "Greedy little piggy," he teased gently. "I'm Saleh, what about you?"
"Marisa." She managed to say in between mouthfuls of purple pulp.
"Marisa…" Saleh marveled. "It means 'sea'. It's a beautiful name."
She gave him a wide smile. She already liked Saleh. He was such a nice person!
Someone, somewhere, somehow…they had ended up together as part of Gerik's mercenary troop. She had joined to earn some money to repay her father's gambling debts; he had joined to (in his words) make sure that she came to no mischief.
One thing they always did was pick cherries in summer, no matter how busy they were.
"Open," she said, holding a cherry in her hand.
Sitting at the base of the cherry tree, he looked up from where he had been reading about the latest developments in magical weapons (melee and magic combined) and opened his mouth wide.
She took careful aim, then dropped the cherry into his mouth. After a free fall of nearly five metres, the cherry landed neatly on his outstretched tongue.
"Hmm…" he smiled. "Tastes good."
She plucked a few more cherries and placed them in the nearly overflowing basket that Saleh had braided for her. With a perfect somersault, she landed softly on the grass a metre away from where Saleh sat. She glanced carelessly at the basket. Not a cherry had spilled, as usual.
"I'll save these for dinner tonight," she said, placing the basket on the grass. "How's the book?"
He looked up amicably. "It's quite informative," he judged. "There's some vague portions, but most of it was explained quite well. They speak of imbibing magic into melee weapons, creating a hybrid weapon that would deal two different kinds of damage to opponents in one strike."
"Really?" she shrugged. She liked her shamshir and daggers the way they were now. Magic or no magic, they were fast enough, lethal enough and small enough. She did not really think it necessary to infuse magic into them to make them fly or something. Hocus pocus stuff was not really her sort of thing.
Saleh laughed good-naturedly, not at all offended by her apparent lack of interest. "You never did like these stuff. But to answer your question, the book is good, and it is likely to be real. The writer claimed to have created an elfire-casting sword and a luna spear. He also mentioned a theory to combine the sacred twins of each country into one weapon that could potentially have greater power. His research stated that there was something to be unlocked, something that needed to be found-That's my lemonade!"
She grinned amusedly at his apparent concern for his lemonade and gulped down every last drop. "There wasn't a lot of it left," she placated.
"Gerik wanted the last tenth of the jar," he explained.
She glanced at the mercenary who was currently having a huge water fight with Tethys and Ewan and was currently losing quite badly. "I think that by the time they finish he would have drunk enough."
Saleh laughed. "True," he mused.
The rays of light from the setting sun lit up the smile on his face. Everything was peaceful, quiet, harmonious and lovely.
Now, everything was so hectic, so different and so confusing. She had been married after a whirlwind agreement signed by her father and Joshua, her husband turned out to be a womanizer and a gambler and her best friend from the past just pronounced his love for her much too late.
Where had everything gone? The peace, the quiet, the happiness…they had all flown beyond her grasp in a short period of three months. Now she was a princess, no longer a commoner on the streets. She had new duties, new responsibilities, a spouse, a mother-in-law.
"I…miss the past…" she confessed regrettably, staring at the basket of cherries. When would she ever have the chance again to pick cherries again with Saleh at the old cherry tree by the river?
"Do you?" A merry glint appeared in his eyes. "I was hoping you would. I do, in any case."
She stared awkwardly at the cherry in her hands. Her lower lip quivered. She wondered why things had turned out this way, why they hadn't even had a chance before they were separated by fate. Perhaps if Joshua didn't come in, perhaps if her father didn't gamble, perhaps if she spent more time with Saleh…things could have been re-written.
"You should go, Saleh," she said finally, breaking the awkward contemplative silence between them. What was done was done. Nothing could be done to rewind time and rewrite history all over again. "It's late."
"I…" he hesitated, but stood up from where he had been sitting on the couch. "Marisa, I hope to see you soon in that case. Take care of yourself. I'll be going then."
She stared resolutely at her cup of tea, determined not to look at him. His scorching gaze was lingering on her face. She swallowed. She wondered how long she could restrain herself.
"Bye." He whispered in a near inaudible voice as he swept out of the door, cape billowing in the wind. His words were tinged with so much sorrow and yearning that she struggled to blink back the tears that threatened to overflow onto her cheeks.
Self-consciously, she wiped her eyes with her sleeves. It was too late for even tears. There was no point in crying for what could have happened.
With a heavy heart, she rose to prepare to retire for the evening. Even though she may be unwilling, she would have to take another sleeping pill tonight if she wanted a decent night's sleep.
Author's Note:
This is a rather solemn picture that is more of plot than emotions. It tells of the Prime Minister, who is thankfully, fictional, and of Saleh, who is unfortunately fictional. I've always thought of Saleh as one who is devoted and dedicated, willing to follow the person he loves to the end of the world. Yet, also because of his personality traits, I feel that he is a silent lover, one that watches and waits at the side, never giving any indication or making any attempts to obtain the others' affection unless the other notices his attention. As such, Saleh's love is tragic, especially with Marisa, because both of them are fearful of love, and are wary of being in love for fear of hurting themselves in the process. I would have loved to create another character for Saleh, but then realised it would be deviating from the story too much. Maybe I should do an extension or something someday XD
Next chapter would be more light-hearted. I hope to post it tomorrow. But don't be lazy, review please! Thanks :D
Cheerios~
snowylavendermist (cloudy, monday, 1.40 pm, cheery but hot due to extreme humidity of weather)