Shackles of Health

Health? In one's hectic lives, health is almost never of anyone's concern. And one almost NEVER takes care of one's health until it is too late.

But health is important. Without health, what can we do with our lives?

"Princess Marisa!" The voice sounded faraway, distant. She lifted her head gingerly. "Your highness!"

It was one of the attendants, wearing the standard black robes. She sounded worried, and rather frantic.

"Your highness!" The attendant walked up to her, relieved, and bowed. "There are visitors for your highness, at the Hall of Serenity. Would you like to receive them?"

"Visitors?" The idea crossed her mind vaguely. Could it be Saleh again? Did he come with Gerik or Ewan or Tethys?

The attendant nodded. "Two visitors for your highness are waiting at the hall, a gentleman and a lady."

It was likely to be Gerik and Tethys. If it had been L'Arachel again the attendant would have been even more harried.

"I'll be there," she acquiesced. "Serve the tea."

The attendant bowed and walked away.

Very slowly, she sighed. She was in no mood to receive anybody, but that was not what she could do as the princess, neither was this what she could do as a friend. Reluctantly, she picked herself up from where she had been sitting by the cherry tree, looking at the yellow and brown leaves falling from the branches.

Unhurriedly, she crossed the yard and walked through the corridors, dimly lit by lanterns. Without any hesitation, she pushed open the door.

Smile, Marisa. Smile.

"Marisa!" Gerik and Tethys rose simultaneously, their faces lighting up in joy to see her.

Tethys approached her and embraced her warmly. "Marisa, it's been so many long months!" She patted her back. "We heard about your father's decease from Saleh. Are you alright?"

She nodded and gave a faint smile.

"We also heard about your persistent fever," Gerik added. "You feeling better? Yes? Good. Saleh was worrying his pants off. So were we."

"Gerik!" Tethys scolded disapprovingly.

Gerik grinned. "Sorry. Ingrained language."

They are…still exactly the same…she mused. Gerik was still carefree and blunt, with a crude tongue but gentle intentions; Tethys still possessed the willowy grace and charm, and her voice was still gentle and soothing. Did only Saleh and I change amongst all of them?

"Oh, look at you!" Tethys pinched her cheeks gently. "You're so thin! Are they feeding you well here? You're practically skin and bones! Did the illness take a lot out of you?"

She hesitated, then gestured to the couch. "I'm fine now. I think I'll need a bit of time to regain my lost weight."

"You look very pale, like Saleh," Gerik frowned. "Where's that playboy husband of yours! I'm going to give him a piece of my mind for mistreating you like this!"

"No!" Marisa restrained him. "Joshua's busy." Flirting with Natasha. "And it's not his fault." I'm blatantly lying through my teeth without even blushing. I must have become an accomplished liar.

Gerik and Tethys looked uncertainly at each other before grudgingly accepting her explanation.

"You see, Marisa, today we didn't come just to visit you," Tethys began. "We're here to advise you."

She raised an eyebrow tentatively. Advise me?

"We think you should run away, Marisa." Gerik had always been the one to mince words and place them out raw, uncovered and undisguised. Blasé was probably his middle name. "This palace isn't good for your health; I can smell the danger and suspicion in the air, thick like peanut butter. It's not safe."

"We think you should go with Saleh, Marisa," Tethys advised gently. "That man has been in love with you from the time he first knew you, and it will break his heart to know that you are suffering here."

"He often sneaks here to visit you whenever he has time off missions," Gerik said heavily. "That's why he always looks so tired. He has been spending his sleeping time pining over you and coming here to see how you are faring."

"He didn't come today?" she asked.

Tethys shook her head. "He has been bogged down by work recently. The last few missions were exceptionally difficult, and we messed up some areas. Saleh has been running all around day and night trying to cover our tracks."

"If you could return to him, Marisa," Gerik said earnestly. "I haven't a doubt that Saleh will be much healthier and happier than he is now."

"I can't," she replied regretfully. I don't love him…at all…I love Joshua…but Joshua doesn't love me…it's all in this elaborate tangle of love triangles and cycles that I can't even keep track of the web…. "Joshua has the oathpaper that restricts my freedom."

Gerik grunted. "But now that your father has passed away, he has no more leverage on you. You can disappear away from him and he'll never be able to do anything to get back at you."

But…if I leave…I won't be able to see Joshua again right? Is that a good thing? Or is it a bad idea? I…I don't know what I want. Everything's so confusing…it's starting to eat into me…

"I don't know," she sighed. "I promised him that I would stay until he is crowned, and then I may do as I deem fit."

"Until he is crowned!" Tethys cried indignantly. "Marisa, he's really demanding too much of you! You should go! There's nothing, absolutely nothing that you can do for this man! He's selfish through and through!"

"He took care of me while I was ill," she said stubbornly.

Both pairs of eyes widened and stared at her.

"Marisa!" Gerik cried. "You aren't…still ill with fever are you?" He reached across the table and felt her forehead. "Nope…feels normal to me…"

"You're in love with him?" Tethys asked incredulously.

"No!" Her denial came a little too fast. Tethys looked at her suspiciously. "I just…thought that it would be right to uphold my end of the bargain since he already upheld father's." She paused. "Besides, with the oathpaper in his hand, he technically can demand that I return to his side and live with him forever as his wife. The legal bindings recognize us as a married couple, and…if I leave with Saleh…it'll just shackle him too…" She trailed off.

There was a pregnant silence.

"She's right," Gerik broke the silence. "That man won't let her off."

"Not after he paid so much money to get her in the first place," Tethys agreed. "Not to mention he's the prince and our future king."

"He's a jerk," Gerik breathed heavily. "A utter jerk through and through." He slammed his fist against the table. "I feel so useless, Marisa. I can't get you out in spite of my abilities."

"Gerik…" Tethys placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "Where there's a will, there's a way. I'm sure we'll be able to rescue Marisa someday. Have faith."

"Tethys…" Gerik groaned, holding her hand in his. "I wonder what I'll ever do without you…"

Marisa turned her head away from the sweet scene before her. Knowing that her own happiness would forever be beyond her grasp, it was nauseating and depressing for her to look at others' blatant happiness at finding romance and comfort.

I feel…as though someone has just stabbed my heart with a dagger…and twisted the handle brutally…so that all my lifeblood are currently draining out of me…She closed her eyes briefly, trembling from agony at the emotional pain wrecking through her. I…need to go. I really need to go…I don't think I'll last much longer here anymore…I…

Abruptly, she stood up, slightly dizzy from the sudden gush of blood from her head after sitting too long. "Gerik, Tethys, I hope to see you again soon." She forced a smile onto her face.

Drip. Drip. Drip. My heart says.

"I'll see you some other time."

Without waiting for their goodbyes, she rushed out of the hall and tore through the corridors.

"Princess!" An oily voice halted her. "Your highness!"

The unpleasant face of Prime Minister Alexander came into her view. He stopped right before her, blocking her from running away. "It is nice to see you so robust and healthy again after such a long period of illness." The man had no sense of shame. She was showing every sign of unwillingness to converse with him and yet he was latching onto her like an annoying tsetse fly. "Would your highness like to join me for a cup of tea?"

No," she replied bluntly, in the coldest tone she could manage. The last thing she needed was something to intensify her headache.

He did not appear offended at her sharpness. If anything, he looked pleased with himself. "Ah…your highness…your refusal shakes the very foundations of my heart…"

Did he even have one? She thought cruelly.

"But your highness, due to the gravity of the issue, I must ask your highness to divert some of her time to sitting with me for tea," Sir Alexander insisted. His jaw was tightly clenched, and a vein throbbed dangerously in his temple. The consequences of refusing him again appeared to be dire.

"Hey you! Midget!" He turned around and hailed a scampering young servant. "Prepare tea for the princess and I at the Hall of Compassion!" He turned to her and changed his tone from the scathing voice to the oily disguised one that made her skin crawl in apprehension and disgust. "This way your highness."

They walked through the corridors silently and entered the hall. Closing the door, he sat himself on the armchair and began. "As you know, your highness, I have engaged the services of Belle as your servant. How is she faring? Ah? She is to your highness' tastes after all! Indeed, that is excellent! We will never lose sleep and hair over your highness' safety again." He took a small sip of the tea. "However, it is almost certain that the safety of Jehanna cannot be protected by employing similar methods. Jehanna is too big, too vast, the population not evenly distributed…amongst other things…this makes the…how do I put it…defense a little more compromised than other countries. Thus it would be beneficial if we come up with a little plan, just one of my little suggestions that your highness can feel free to reject if you wish…"

"Sir Alexander," she interrupted. "As I have said the previous time, brevity is key."

"Ahh yes, as your highness wishes." Every bit of oiliness continued, oozing from his speech in copious quantities. "Your highness, I understand that you are…" He leant in closer and lowered his voice. "On intimate terms with a prominent young man of Carcino?"

She leant back, away from him in disgust. "I do not think intimate is the appropriate adjective to apply in this case."

"No?" He raised an eyebrow almost mockingly. "Very well then, your highness, may I then suggest the word 'friendly' to better suit your highness' palate? However, the crux of the issue is obviously not about the wording of the premises. The central idea is for your highness to exploit the relationships you have forged with the Carcino young man to ensure the supply of necessities to Jehanna in case of war."

"That's impossible," she snapped. "Carcino is a mercantile, not involved in politics in any form. What made you think that he'll help?"

"It is impossible if your highness remains steadfast in your opinions," he explained with a blood-curdling smile. "However, this young gentleman apparently has been quite taken by your highness' charms. If your highness would agree with perhaps a sultry smile and a flash of your dainty ankles, he would comply with the utmost willingness. After all, he was the one who first suggested elopement."

She shot him a sharp look, thunderstruck. How did he know? The cogs in her brain whirred speedily, trying to figure out. Sir Alexander's words carried serious threat and it was blatant that his purpose was not to implore her to ask Carcino for diplomatic trading, but to warn her of his power and knowledge, which had the potential to ruin her.

How much exactly did he know? She narrowed her eyes at the large man smiling opposite her. Behind that odious face and that wily smile was a cunning mind with all sorts of information and knowledge for facilitating his devious schemes. She had little idea how he found out about Rennac's relationship with her and his proposal to her, but she understood that if the news was leaked out, it would have devastating consequences on the reputation of the Jehannan royal family and on her.

"What do you want?" she snarled.

He threw his head back and laughed sharply, short barks of glee. "Convince Queen Ismaire to release the Sacred Twins and the Sacred Stone."

"Why?" Blackmail was an ugly word. Being part of a blackmail scheme was disgraceful. But being the victim blackmailed was the worst. It showed foolishness, idiocy and a lack of control of one's own affairs.

"Is it not obvious that it would help Jehanna? It would save all our sorry lives and you ask why? I am amused, princess," he said derisively. "Well, your reputation or my offer?"

Blackmail. She could feel her lips curling into a sneer as she weighed her options. His offer was dubious; it was not as simple as he put it to be. She was not dealing with a normal human; the man was a viper in disguise, a servant of the devil himself.

"No," she scoffed. She narrowed her eyes as he slammed the teacup back onto the table in obvious fury. Their last meeting had ended with him having the upper hand. This time she would prove to him who was the real boss. "You are a clever man, Sir Alexander. You know I have nothing to lose. If you are really as informed as you believe you are, you know me. I don't fear for myself. I can easily escape the clutches of your smearing." She looked condescendingly as his expression shifted from fury to one of hatred and rage. "You, on the other hand, may not be so lucky. Queen Ismaire has a excellent memory, and Joshua certainly won't appreciate smearing the royal name, or my name."

He was silently bubbling with barely controlled anger. Evidently, he had tried to blackmail with his knowledge, tried to scare her into submission, but his plan backfired. He was the one who was cornered, who had to watch his step, who was needed to bend his back and bow down to the victor.

"You won this round, princess," he said softly but menacingly. "But don't think this is over. You are an interesting case of a princess, and do toe the line. Because if you step over the line, be sure there'll be someone behind to push you over the line." With one last glare, he swept out of the door.

You have to be careful from now on, she warned herself silently. He won't let you off for today's humiliation and rejection. The man is the devil reincarnated. He probably has a few other aces up his sleeve. She rubbed her temples. Why in the world does Queen Ismaire trust this devil's advocate as the prime minister to manage Jehanna? He obviously has a few ulterior motives.

Her head hurt from verbally sparring with Sir Alexander and trying to shoot down his contentions. She had never been good at sorting out arguments and refuting other's points, although her intellect certainly was unquestionably higher than normal. It drained her both mentally and physically.

As such, when she reached her room, the first thing she did was to summon Belle for a cup of tea and relaxed onto the sofa. Rubbing her temples wearily, she bent over to pick up the book she had left on the coffee table the day before.

The book was there, exactly where she had placed it. But beside the book there was now a box she had never laid her eyes on before.

Curiously, she picked up the foreign object. It was considerably small, perhaps six inches by ten inches, but when she shook it, there was the rustling of paper. It was, thankfully, not gaudy, but neither was it overly plain. It was covered with decoupages of pieces of ivory, cream and white marbled paper, with a tasteful lace border.

Gingerly, she lifted the lid, afraid of damaging the treasures the box contained.

Treaties? Inheritance wills? Official documents? The oathpaper?

Eagerly, she peered into the box.

Letters. It contained stacks of letters, all of them written painstakingly by hand but not enclosed in an envelope or stamped. Some of them were yellow, and crumbling at the edges, the ink fading into the paper. Some were bound by a ribbon, tied neatly in a stack. However, the top few were white, and the handwriting still legible on the loose sheets of paper.

She frowned. Had she found Joshua's correspondence with L'Arachel? It would certainly be interesting to read about his complaining and his conversation with the egoistical and self-absorbed princess.

She folded the topmost letter and scanned the sentences.

Did I ever tell you that I can never love you enough? Every moment, I'm thinking of you. When I seat at the dinner table, I can't help but find my mind slipping from dinner conversation with Mother and Marisa back to you. How do you find so much to entrance me with? I have yet to meet someone, old or young, gentleman or lady, well-bred or lowly-born, who has such a deep insight of social issues.

The suggestions that you gave me yesterday made a lot of sense. I have suggested them to Mother, and she approved of them. I didn't dare tell her that it was your ideas, for fear that Mother might glimpse our relationship, or that Marisa might suspect. She isn't dumb; for a street-smart person without copious amounts of education, her deductive and inductive skills do astound me sometimes. I fear she might discover our relationship sooner or later.

Let's worry about these problems when they surface. For the moment, I am content enjoying your company. I'll never forget those lovely afternoons spent with you in the infirmary, stealing forbidden kisses from your sweet lips. You advised me not to write after my marriage, but you know that I can't bring myself to stop our correspondence.

However, one question has been tormenting me every night. Why did you reject my proposal? If you had accepted, I would be happily married to you. You would be my princess, while I would be your Prince Charming. Together, we can rule Jehanna with Mother as a pair of the wisest rulers ever witnessed. Don't you love me? Do I not love you enough?

Now, I am stuck being married to Marisa. She's exceptionally charming, indeed, but her beauty cannot compare to yours, or even L'Arachel's. She has none of your ethereal grace, or L'Arachel's sultry pout. She's as frigid as a glacial, unfortunately. She remains expressionless throughout most of the day, engaging in past-times beside the cherry trees and meeting several of her friends occasionally. Mother seems to be taken in by her, though. Marisa doesn't like me, though. So don't worry, my heart is completely only for you. After I am crowned, I'll divorce her, which will likely bring great joy to both parties. Then we can be together, even if you refuse to marry me. Wait for me, and perhaps one day we can stand together as King Joshua and Queen Natasha.

Love, Joshua

PS. It feels so weird being married. I'm still not used to it, even though it has been two days already.

The letter slipped from her hands.

The truth was undeniably in front of her eyes.

Her hands trembled uncontrollably.

Shakily, she stood and walked mechanically towards the window, peering out at the yard.

There it was, the cherry tree.

Her mind was blank, black, white, sweet, sour, bitter, salty, spicy.

How could her mind taste of something?

What was in her mind again?

The cherry tree seemed to beckon to her, the steadfast beacon of solidness in a life that seemed to be made of vapours.

The vapours that were currently evaporating, leaving nothingness.

Her lower lip trembled, as did the rest of her.

She felt cold, as though she was standing in snow without adequate fur clothing.

Her heart pounded nervously.

Every breath was laboured and painful.

The leaves fell steadily from the cherry tree, carpeting the yard brown.

Was she worth the title of princess?

She swallowed.

Her throat burnt.

Her lungs felt punctured.

Her heart clenched.

Her legs cramped.

Her windpipe tightened.

Her senses dulled.

"Princess?" Belle.

She snapped back into reality, the harsh truth.

Her mind cleared. Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

A strange burning lump rose from the depth of her lungs, inching up her windpipe painfully.

She gave a harsh cry as the lump moved into her mouth.

It tasted scathingly of iron and salt.

She watched wearily as the fresh red blood spewed from her mouth, splattering onto the glass of the window.

The reality…hurt.

The tears scorched her eyes, but she did not even have the capability to wipe them away with her hand anymore. She was frozen. No, she was falling.

With a heavy thump, she collapsed onto the carpet. With the last vestiges of her consciousness, she looked at Belle bent over her form, screaming her title over and over again.

Was she ever worth that title?

The heartbeat was slowly down. She could feel it, hear it.

Her breathing slowed too.

Would it eventually stop?

Would it be best for everyone for it to stop?

In reality would it stop?

In reality was it there in the first place?

Her mind shut itself.

Her senses shut themselves.

Her heart prepared to shut itself.

Her lungs prepared to shut themselves.

Nothing.

Still nothing.

Reality hurt.

More than the lifeblood pouring out of her mouth.

Red miasma, red as her blood itself, swarmed before her eyes.

A cold tear slid slowly down her cheek as she gave herself freely to the overwhelming darkness.

Reality…hurt.

Author's Note:

Author has no notes.

Author is sick herself.

Author is busy moping over her own life.

Author shall post soon.

Author going to eat canned tuna fish.

Author says bye.