The Brush Tiger of Derven Ch. 01-05

Truth be told, the feast is like none before. Roasted tiger meat cooked to perfection, gloriously seasoned vegetables and even some freshly baked bread. The women of Derven celebrate the upcoming marriage of their Princess and Namora does the best she can to partake in their joy, though she feels empty inside. She eats until she cannot eat anymore. As the seconds tick by, she can feel her patience, her fake happiness waning. Eventually she stands and stretches; when her two hunting companions make a move towards their weapons, she stops them.

"No, please stay and enjoy the feast. I wish to hunt alone tonight," Namora offers a warm smile, using the remaining reserve of her acting skills to convince them.

Amyee and Cari look at each other nervously; the idea of letting the Princess hunt alone in the woods seems like a bad one. Cari finally nods at Amyee and the two wish Namora luck before she wanders alone into the woods.

The stillness of the trees offer Namora some reprieve from the feast. Though she brought her bow, it remains slung on her shoulder. Only her hunting knife is drawn in protection; she wishes a close encounter. If the tiger got the best of her, then she wouldn't have to marry King Irron—if she got the best of it then she would be able to release some frustration. As if all of the creatures can sense her mood, she comes across none.

Namora walks deep into the forest until she can no longer hear the laughter and music of the feast. With only the moonlight to guide her, she finds a thick tree and begins to climb. The feel of the rough bark against her skin causes her some pain but she welcomes the feeling with open arms as a distraction to her emotions.

Once she is safely nestled in the crook of a branch, Namora untangles her bow and draws an arrow, resting both at the ready on her lap. She fiddles with her hunting knife, watching the breeze shift the shadows of the surrounding plant life. The passing of time has no meaning in the woods; the only way to gauge it is by the movement of the moon. As it creeps through the sky, the moon hits its high point and the silvery light washes over her tree, casting leaf like cut outs on the ground below.

Looking up through the branches, she sees the lonely moon, almost sulking in the sky. There are no stars tonight. She can sense that there are only a few more hours of peace before the sun rises and the Huntress Festival comes to an end. No doubt the other women have begun their final hunt but Namora knows that she is miles deeper into the forest than they will venture.

She considers her soon to be future: wife to a King who sees women as no more than a possession, a country without woods and grass and only a few precious weeks in the only place she has ever known. Feeling a deep emptiness inside, her stomach begins to ache and her heart pounds. As the burning rises up her throat and attempts to make it to her eyes she forces herself to get a grip. She can't feel sorry for herself any longer; there is nothing she can do to change her fate.

Something catches her eye; she turns her head very slowly towards the movement. She cannot see anything in the darkness but the familiar musty smell of a tiger wafts over her. Carefully she puts the blade of her knife in her mouth, not wanting to make noise by putting it away. Her fingers wrap themselves around her bow and the arrow and she raises the two together in sync. As her body unwinds and straightens, she draws back the string, resting it against her cheek. Though her muscles burn from the tension, she remains still and ready for the tiger to show itself.

From the bushes, two menacing blue eyes begin to glow. Confused, Namora draws a sharp breath; the eyes jerk towards her, now knowing where she is hiding. It takes her a moment to realize that the familiar golden tiger eyes are simply reflecting the moonlight, appearing to glow a deep blue. As the tiger slowly stalks forward, the moonlight continues to shimmer against it, causing its usually brown fur to appear a deep blonde.

She slowly releases the tension on the bow so as not to send the arrow into the heart of the creature. Something makes her want to leave the creature be; alive and free in the woods, something she will never be again. The two sit, staring at each other. The moon creeps along the sky yet they do not move. It isn't until the tentacles of the sun rudely begin to reach through the tree tops to touch every blade of grass, every particle of dirt, every fiber of being that the tiger disappears into the fading darkness, leaving Namora very much alone.

CHAPTER 3: KING IRRON OF ALUMENIA

The week following the Huntress Festival passes by in a blur but not because the excitement of the townsfolk leeched into Namora. Instead, to her, each second lasts a year and with the slow passing of time she gives up the hope that she will be happy. She stops processing the chaos and instead withdraws into herself, numb to the various dress fittings, to the army of staff cleaning the castle, to the joyous presentations of cut flowers that adorn almost every hallway and room. She avoids her father, ducking into unused rooms or out doors or on occasion behind curtains because she knows that sad gaze could possibly cause her to cry.

She is finally forced back to reality when Eunice cinches Namora's corset tight, the inability to gain a full breath causing her to sit down when she gets light headed. As the Princess, a model of beauty and modesty, she is supposed to be wearing one every day but she only does so on special occasions. While the women of Derven all remain fully covered and wear loosing fitting clothing, most do wear a corset in an attempt to accentuate their curves under the bulky fabric. The effect isn't vulgar, like it is in the other countries but merely meant to change the hidden figure from a seemingly genderless body to one that suggests a woman lie beneath.

Eunice, Namora's elderly handmaiden, escorts six ladies into her room, each carrying a different dress. Having just rejoined the conscious world, Namora realizes that she is to pick one to wear for her first meeting with King Irron.

She has never seen any of them before. They must have all been recently made, perhaps in celebration of her upcoming wedding. The cuts of the dress are on the verge of scandalous for a Derven woman: a few are sleeveless, others are cut low enough to show the skin beneath the collar bone. No doubt they are meant to show the Princess off to her new fiancé, to tempt him with the thought of what lie beneath the fabric. Though it could be the tightness of the corset, Namora begins to feel woozy at the idea of exposing her skin to such a despicable man as King Irron. The last dress, a dark green velvety affair, though it seems to be impossibly form fitting is the only one with a high necked collar and long sleeves. She chooses it, deciding that exposing the curves of her body would be less embarrassing than showing her bare arms or neck to King Irron.

The other ladies exit, leaving Eunice to help Namora get dressed. The old lady is forced to tighten her corset a bit more in order to get the slender dress buttoned up the back. Barely able to sit down without cutting off her entire oxygen supply, Namora takes shallow breaths to keep from passing out as the old woman fixes the Princess' hair before carefully twisting her crown into place. The crown, a beautifully tarnished copper piece with blue and red gems, adds another six inches to her height. As she stares at herself in the mirror, Eunice entwines a few white orchids just below the crown before she slips out to leave the Princess alone.

Namora is fixated by the red jewels. The impossible color is one she has only ever seen in nature, never on a person. Being the Queen's color, red is retired out of respect when there is no Queen. Soon she will trade in her crown for the even taller version that contains only the red jewels and when she does, she will have a wardrobe that consists almost entirely of that color. The thought makes her sick and she if forced to brace herself against the wall. She doesn't feel ready to be Queen and above it all she isn't sure that she wants Irron to become King of Derven. When her hands start to shake she leans her forehead against the cool wooden panel. She closes her eyes and breathes slowly, calming her nerves.

A soft rap on the door brings her back; she opens her eyes in time to see Laren enter her room. The shocked expression on his face emphasizes Namora's transformation from the tough girl he trained to the elegant, feminine Princess before him. With a sad smile, he greets her with a bow.

"It appears that King Irron has entered Derven. They will be at the castle within minutes, Princess."

She nods and follows him without a word.

Upon the castle steps, Namora can see that the city has been elaborately decorated in Irron's color, gold, or at least it is the best attempt that the Dervens can muster, which means that the banners and streamers are yellow. She has only seen true gold once in her life, when her father took her into the royal vault on her fifteenth birthday to give her a necklace as her present. Her necklace was a beautiful silver chain with two gems, a red and a blue one, formed in the shape of a heart, but also in the vault there was a beautiful golden bracelet cuff. Though her father looked upon it with disdain, Namora couldn't understand why until now.

In the distance, something bright catches her eye. The glare only gets brighter as King Irron's procession weaves its way closer, like a golden snake in the grass. As the townsfolk fawn over the excessive grandeur that is probably an everyday occurrence for King Irron, Namora has to try hard to wipe the disgust off of her face. With his threat of stopping the peddlers from coming to Derven, the large flaunt of metal is a huge slap in the face for her.

The loud, metallic clanking and creaking comes to a halt at the base of the castle steps. Upon exiting the silver and gold box he rode in, Irron makes a huge show out of walking up the stairs to greet her and her father.

He stops before the King and bows too deeply, his voice thick with fake kindness, "King Nathanial, so good to see you again."

Upon rising he turns his attention to Namora and she gets her first look at her future husband. If she never knew anything about his personality or his cruel disposition, she might have thought him to be physically handsome despite being older than her. With deep auburn hair sprinkled with grey and a very strong jaw that outlines his features, he truly is an attractive man; however, Namora's prejudice doesn't allow her to see that.

"Princess Namora, my dear," he says and with a brilliant smile he drops, overly dramatic, to one knee. Irron takes Namora's hand into his and kisses it passionately. It takes all of her restraint not to yank it away from him and slap him across his fake smile. From his jacket pocket he pulls an elegant golden box; upon opening it he places a hideous, gaudy looking golden ring on her finger. The sacred symbol feels cold and foreign against her skin, reminding her of a shackle.

She forces a smile onto her face, "Pleasure to meet you, King Irron."

Rising up, he offers her his arm; she has no choice but to take it as they follow her father into the castle. Outside of a dance, training with Irron and the occasional shove with Amyee's older brother, Namora has had no contact with men. With the exception of normal family relations, the people of Derven aren't the touching type. Even her father stopped hugging her when she became of age to participate in the Festival. To say that even the most innocent of touches-like a hug or holding hands between the genders-is taboo, would be an understatement.

"Please, my love, just call me Irron," he says as he places his right hand over hers. She stills her anxiety of his nearness, reminding herself that they are to be wed, which means that soon they will be closer than she has ever been to another man in her life. Together they wind their way through the long castle hallways to the Grand Hall. Set in an L shape, they sit in the center of the long table while her father takes his seat at the shorter table, along with Laren. While Irron has his Advisor to his right, Namora has no one to sit next to her, making her feel even more alone.

As the townsfolk stream into the room, some sit at tables while others mill around the large open area before Namora and Irron. With her back straight as an arrow, she sits perfectly still, focusing her energy on keeping the pleasant smile plastered on her face. Irron says nothing, merely watching the people wander about the room.

As a bunch of musicians begin to play, the people clap happily, gathering up their partners. Irron speaks under his breath. "Oh a dance, how quaint," he says cheerfully, but Namora can detect a hint of snideness in his voice. He turns to her, "Do you like to dance, Namora?"

Turning to him, she looks into his eyes to discover that they are the only thing physically unattractive about the man—dark and cold, they remind her of how her heart feels. "Occasionally," she lies, as she dearly loves to dance but feels herself reluctant to share anything she enjoys with the man.

"Perhaps later you could do me the honor of a dance? I'm afraid I'm not that good, so you'll have to bear with my clumsiness," he smiles at her. Though Irron thinks himself a very charming individual Namora quickly sees past his deception to his true nature.

She returns his smile, "Perhaps."

As the night drags on, everyone dances, drinks, eats and laughs, but Namora. Though only those who know her best, namely Laren and her dear friend Amyee, can see the amount of suffering she is forced though, Irron is ignorant to her distaste of him. With a smile on her face but not in her heart, she sits patiently at the table next to him, listening to him brag about his wealth and possessions, feigning interest when warranted.

Signaling the end of the dance, her father rises from his seat. With a nod to Irron and Namora, he makes his exit from the room. The musicians take the cue, pausing for a few minutes before playing the last song of the night. Irron, having almost forgotten that he asked for a dance, smiles to Namora as the first few chords of the Hunter's Waltz begin, "Shall we dance, my love?"

Namora stifles a fake yawn, "I am so sorry, King Irron, but I am awfully tired. Would you be terribly upset with me if we waited until next time?" Giving him her best apologetic look, Namora hopes he will agree with her. Her favorite dance, the Hunter's Waltz, also happens to be the most technically challenging and while she would love to make a fool out of him, she doesn't think that it would be wise.

Somewhat relieved, he replies "Very well, but you must promise me your very next dance, yes?"

Placing her hand on her heart, she closes her eyes, "I promise." She half vows that she will never dance again if he is to be her next partner.

When the Hunter's Waltz is about half over, she takes the opportunity to make her exit. Standing gracefully, she bows as best as she can with the constricting corset, "Good night, King Irron."

Before she has a chance to make another move, he is on his feet, gathering her hand up and wrapping it around his arm, "Please, let me escort you to your room."

Seeing Laren walk over to them, as a chaperone, Namora persists, "I wouldn't want to impose on you, King."

He smiles somewhat deviously at her, "I insist my love." Before leading her out of the room, he addresses his Advisor, "Thank you, Jones, but I think I will be safe enough in this castle that I won't need your company. I will meet you back here as soon as I see Namora safely to her room and we will figure out where I am staying."

She catches the irritated, worried look on Laren's face. Having forced her hand, Namora must abandon her chaperone, lest she seem distrustful of Irron, "I won't be needing your services tonight, Advisor Laren." She gives him a tight smile, both sharing the same anxiety of her being left alone with Irron.

Though Irron leads her out of the Grand Hall, it is up to Namora to guide him through the twisting and turning paths to her room. They walk in awkward silence. When they reach her door, she releases his arm and gives him a small curtsey, "Thank you, King Irron. I shall see you tomorrow morning for breakfast."

As soon as she rises, he steps closer to her. Namora freezes; with her back to her door, she is trapped. Irron reaches up to her hair, briefly touching the white orchid in it.

"What a beautiful flower," he says softly, looking into her eyes as he lets his hand drop to her cheek, "but not as beautiful as you, my love."

Namora's stomach twists into knots, burning hot with a feeling she has never felt before. Surely, it can't be love, she thinks. Unable to respond, she gives him a tight smile.

His hand lingers on her cheek as he continues, "Do you know what is said about you, Namora? The peddlers lucky enough to have seen you boast of your beauty, saying that it is unparalleled across our land. For a few years I have pondered over finding a Queen for my country but upon hearing the rumors I was sure that you could be the only one worthy. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew that I loved you." A less savvy ear would mistake Irron's silver tongue for truth but Namora can see past his deception and flattery. He leans in to her, looking for a kiss but at the last moment Namora turns her head and his lips land on her cheek.

The fire inside her flares up and for the first time in her life she recognizes the feeling to be anger. Forcing her face to remain that of a schooled Princess, she tries to calm herself down but when Irron pulls away from her, the irritation in his face adds fuel to her fire.

"Do you not love me, Namora?" Though his voice is laced with sadness, his eyes threaten her.

She drops her gaze to the ground and speaks quietly, as if to calm herself down, "I have only known you a few hours, King Irron. I know nothing of your character, save the way you went about securing my hand in marriage." When she looks back up to him, his eyes remain the same, though his face changes to shame.

"It was a foolish, selfish thing I did to you, my love, but I was afraid the only way you'd entertain the notion of marrying an old man like me was if you didn't have a choice. I truly am sorry that I did that to you but now I can see that you aren't a shallow person," he holds her hand to his heart, as if to convey his false sincerity, "So I will promise you this: give me the next few days to win your affections. If I do not, I will call off the engagement and no ill effects will be bestowed upon Derven."

Though his voice sounds genuine, his eyes betray a threat that she has no choice but to marry him. She comes to the realization that the only way she will be free of the man is if she is dead. Unable to muster a smile, she says, "Very well, then. I shall see you for breakfast tomorrow morning. Good night, King Irron."

Without waiting for a response or for him to attempt to kiss her again, she pushes against her door and backs into her room, shutting it between them. With her forehead pressed against the wood, she doesn't feel safe until she can hear his footsteps retreat down the hallway.

Inside her room, Eunice waits patiently to help her undress. Still a little unnerved by her encounter with the King, she only allows Eunice to unbutton the top portion of her dress before she dismisses her, letting her know that she can take it over from here.

Once alone, Namora hastily pulls the dress off, throwing it onto her bed. It takes a few tugs but she manages to loosen the corset and draw in her first full breath of the evening. After removing her crown, she quickly pulls on a simple cotton dress and kicks off her dress slippers, exchanging them for her hunting boots. Grabbing her hunting knife, she blows out the candles, leaving the glow from the fireplace as the only illumination. She silently makes her way to the corner of the room, pushing quietly on one of the hidden latches that opens a panel to the secret passage ways of the castle. Known historically only to the women of the ruling family, Laren was the one who had to show her the entrance when she was little, as her mother died when she was very young.