The Prince's Bride Ch. 01

Note: This is a two-parter set in a brand-new setting, as a little present for my fellow writer Carol_J! His mind control/monster girl stories are decadently delightful, and you should check them out! I especially recommend "Marital Habits", which directly inspired my goblin maids.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"She will be here soon, my Prince."

Felic stared out over the valley. "I know." He squirmed slightly.

"You have doubts?"

Felic hesitated, then turned to the speaker. "No. Definitely not."

They smiled, or... seemed to smile. The castle spirit had a humanoid form—feminine if one squinted—made up of countless blue ribbons caught in the whirling currents of its 'body'. Only their eyes, a brilliant green, conveyed some sense of mood. "No, my Prince."

Prince Felic bit his lip, then glanced out over the balcony again. Far below the great Castle Azure, hewed of smooth blue-gray stone and inscribed with runes on every available inch, the city of Azure hummed with life as townsfolk went about their days. Azure was a verdant landscape, with as many trees as buildings—some with buildings built around or inside the trees, in fact. The valley was vibrant with bright greens and deep blues...

... and the unhallowed reds cast by the distant moon upon the waters.

He swallowed. The moon peeked just over the northern mountains, a pale crimson in the daylight. The mark of the Queen's first conquest over their world.

"She'll be here soon?" he asked. His lips were dry. "You're sure?"

He felt cool metal nudged into his hand. He turned and smiled in thanks as the castle spirit nodded. Felic took a swig of the cool spring water. "We cannot see beyond the castle, of course, but we are speaking with the Captain right now. They have been sighted near the city gates. An hour, perhaps, or less. That is all you have."

"Thank you." Felic drank heavily to hide his nerves. "And... when she arrives. We will be ready?"

"As ready as we can be. The question is, will you be?"

Felic stared up at the pink moon. Even staring at it too long was said to be dangerous—they said it could fill your mind with the Queen's madness, make you do terrible things if you slept beneath it. But a Prince could not be seen to show superstitious fear.

"It's the Parliament's decree," he said simply. "I can only obey."

"Ah. Naturally."

Prince Felic turned and exchanged a wry look with the spirit. The Parliament had not issued an independent decree in years—not since the Queen had arrived to the north and declared war upon their world. His mother, Queen Felicia, had believed that democracy was more of a peacetime practice, and had made reforms accordingly.

The Parliament was a paper tiger, a paperwork dragon. Power had to be concentrated in one strong voice. His mother had been that voice once. Now he was. Now he had to be.

"Horace is coming," the spirit said. "He is going to try to talk sense into you, I think."

"My Prince!" called a rough voice. Felic turned slowly, adjusting his simple—but trailing—purple cloak, to see the Captain of the Royal Guard racing down the hall towards the balcony. Horace was red-faced, breathless. He had probably run this far on impulse.

A handsome man in his prime, Horace had earned his stars under the Parliament's rule, and had grown old under the reign of 'Queen Felicia the Determined', and the rule of war under her leadership. His dark dreadlocks were streaked with gray like steel cables, and his eyes had a perpetually haunted quality, as if he were always a little out of place. Horace had earned his current rank in battle against the Queen in the northern theater, largely by being the only commander to make it out alive and whole.

"Captain Horace," Felic said, barely holding in a sigh. "What news?"

"Word is that she has already breached the gates." Horace was already panting as he stopped at the entrance. He leaned against the wall for support. "My Prince, I must... must counsel against this. Rainvale has never needed to resort to consorting with... with..."

"With the Wildflower Kingdom." Felic gave a tight smile.

"They are our direct adversaries in trade." Horace straightened. "And their ways are in stone and mortar, not rune and green!" He spoke the old mantra as though he'd been practicing it the whole way up. "The old Parliament would never..."

"We were rivals once," Felic said, nodding. "But they are our fellow adversaries against the Succubus Queen."

"But to settle for this... this humiliating..."

"Captain Horace." Prince Felic mustered all his mother's teachings into a weary frown. "Are the men unhappy with my decision?"

Horace's shoulders rose, then slumped. "No, My Prince," he muttered. "They are—we all have full confidence in your strategy."

Outliving the rest of his contingent meant that Horace was also one of the only Royal Guards who remembered a time when a royal's word was not the law and religious dogma of the nation. It made Horace rather nice to talk to, in Felic's view, but there was a time and place.

"But?" Felic prompted.

Horace rubbed his forehead. "Prince Felic, my concern is not with alliance. My concern is with the... unfair nature of this alliance."

"Captain Horace," the spirit said, their voice resonating with magical energies, "the Wildflower Kingdom is offering us full access to their arcane libraries, direct aid in acquiring weaponry, and a full mutual defense pact. Considering how our so-called 'allies' to the south have ignored our calls entirely of late, this is hardly a neglectful response."

"But the choice they've made..." Horace looked like spiders were crawling under his armor. He stared at Felic desperately. "My Prince, it is beneath you."

Felic grimaced. Speaking of doubts. "It is a political marriage, Captain."

"To a seventh-born!" Horace shook his head. "Not only is she nowhere near succession—whereas you are set to be king—a seventh-born, Your Highness!"

"An auspicious number," the spirit said primly. The spirit tended to be a bit sensitive about criticisms of witchcraft, which was, considering their origins, understandable.

Horace wasn't having it. "A witch's number. There's a reason we only even heard they had a seventh child two years ago. It is a mark of shame, of danger. Especially so soon after... after the Queen's arrival." He grimaced and sketched a quick rune upon his forehead.

In Rainvale, there were two ways to refer to a Queen. One way was with reverence and respect, fear and adoration, and this was how to refer to the late Queen Felica. She was called Queen Felicia, or the Determined Queen. Sometimes 'Old Bullet', if you were old enough to remember her campaign into the Wildflower Kingdom. Nobody ever called her the Queen anymore.

And then there was the Succubus Queen. There were all kinds of nicknames for her—Moon Temptress, Crimson Lady, Miss Sweetness. Her followers called her simply Lady Love. Most just called her the Queen.

Felic said nothing. He glanced up at the moon, then at his feet. His nerves were returning, and he had to conceal them them as best he could. There were only two people in this entire castle who could tell when the great Prince was hesitant, and one was the literal castle, and the other was Captain Horace.

"Your word is law, my Prince," Horace said carefully. "But it is a mark of disrespect. You are first-born, and known to your people as an unrivaled leader."

"What is so wrong about witches?" the spirit asked, still sounding a bit catty. "We aren't like the Wildflower Kingdom. We do not fear magic."

"But they do, and that's what makes it disrespectful," Horace said impatiently. "And I mean no offense, Spirit, but magic has no place in the throne room! We should refuse any offer below first-born. They cannot pressure us when the Succubus Queen will no doubt be at their doorstep the moment we fall."

"Fortunate for them she has not already. The spirit glanced out over the balcony—an empty void to their limited senses, Felic knew. "Fortunate for them that the succubi still fear to fly across the Balm."

The Balm was a river springing from Rainvale's peaks and winding around the Wildflower Kingdom's capital, and the main reason for their historical rivalries with the Wildflower Kingdom of the plains below. It was ruled by the sirens, friends to the Kingdom. Neither Old Bullet nor Moon Temptress had ever managed to land troops on the far side that weren't drooling and begging to listen to just a few more sweet songs.

"Anyways, my Prince." The spirit's ribbons formed a billowing skirt so it could curtsey. "Your bride has arrived at the castle gates."

"Ah. Excellent." Felic mindlessly accepted the refilled goblet from the spirit to wet his chapped lips. "Then let us meet our guests. They should not be kept waiting—seventh-born or not, a noble-born lady has a certain... delicacy that needs accommodation after a week on the road."

~ ~ ~ ~

"Fuck, I am starving."

"My lady..."

"No, I mean, seven gods above, I am hungry as a mountain bee." Princess Jenne shot the castle guards a bitter glance. "I don't suppose there's any manner of..."

"Refreshments will be provided when the Prince is here," the lead guard said primly, not meeting her gaze. There were seven of them—a number Jenne had noticed the valley folk were quite fond of for special occasions. Seven towers for Castle Azure. Seven tapestries on each wall of the hall they'd walked down to reach this waiting room. Seven doors leading out. It felt rather serendipitous, really. Like they'd been waiting for her all these years.

It was a nice fantasy.

Jenne shot her four attendants a weary look. "He keeps you all on short leashes, does he?"

The guards were as stiff as statues.

One of her attendants—Myrtle, a tall, slender blonde chosen for this journey primarily for her experience with valley folk ways—leaned down to whisper in her ear. "You will find that this is common in the kingdom, my lady," she murmured. "Ever since Queen Felica's rule."

Jenne's nose wrinkled slightly. Old Bullet had tried to conquer them once, long ago. It hadn't taken. "So they'll just do everything he says, is that right?"

"Mm."

Princess Jenne sighed. She stopped pacing and sat back down in her chair. This required a slight hop, as Jenne was rather slight. At just below five feet tall, she was the shortest in her family, but had the widest hips and the worst reputation. She brushed back her wavy black hair—done up in a plump, bouncy topknot—folded her arms and waited.

She remembered what she'd been told with crystal clarity. The Prince is already willing, but if you fail to do anything less than charm him, the whole alliance can still crumble. His word in the valley is law. Nothing you or your attendants can do or say will stop them from rejecting you if that is his decision. Do not fail.

Prince Felic was like his mother. A despot. A warrior king in the making, one who could resume his mother's mission at a moment's notice. The hope was that this marriage would soften him slightly

But as the guards made way, and the warrior king in the making entered the room, Jenne blinked.

Oh.

He was... well, quite a handsome fellow, wasn't he? Tall and chiseled, fit and yet... soft, somehow, in a way that pleased her. His dark hair was curly and nicely-styled, and his big green eyes—it was so rare back home to see a pair of genuinely human green eyes—and such a gentlemanly posture. She knew the men of Rainvale were expected to follow strict codes (after all, with the exception of the late Queen, men were expected to generally rule), and that cool, clean regality complimented a pretty face so nicely.

Jenne swallowed, feeling her face heating up. Do not fail.

~ ~ ~ ~

She was pretty. Prince Felic felt his heart quicken slightly. He hadn't expected that, from the stories. Sure, the diplomats had called her a great beauty, promised a spellbinding testament to the female form, but with all the rumors, he'd half-expected some kind of half-skeletal necromancer. The diplomats hadn't mentioned her lovely round face, those bright, amber-brown eyes...

Prince Felic's breath caught as he realized he was halfway to ogling her impossibly wide hips—so amply shown off by those scandalously form-fitting violet pants. He coughed and bowed very low. Lower than he'd planned, really. "My Lady."

"Oh, bless you!" Lady Jenne sprang to her feet and bowed as well. "My Lord, Prince Felic, I presume?"

"Ah. Yes." Prince Felic rose. "I am Prince Felic, of the—" He halted just a moment, searching for the standard introduction—the territories he was supposed to list off—gods damn it, why was his mind so scattered—

"And I am Lady Jenne," Jenne said, smiling brightly at him. Her voice was bright and chipper—and quick. "It's an exquisite pleasure, Prince Felic, really, a gift beyond compare! Ah, to finally meet the great ruler of Rainvale. Such a gift."

"I... yes, yes, of course." Oh, gods, did I just say 'of course' it's a gift to meet me? Felic's face flushed slightly. "Th-That is to say, the feeling is mutual. It's a pleasure to meet you, Princess Jenne."

He remembered to emphasize 'princess'. That had been an early decision—by Wildflower Kingdom rules, she wasn't actually designated as such, as she had no real claim to the throne. Calling her 'princess' would both flatter her and exaggerate her importance, which might... might help in future negotiations. Or something like that.

It was hard to focus on all the legalities and niceties he had been educated on when Jenne was talking, though, and she talked fast.

"Oh, so kind! Your castle is a lovely sight after a week's travel, I must say, and your city's a delight. It's a divine measure of your rule, I think, really, to see so many smiling faces on your faithful subjects."

"I... thank you." Felic cleared his throat. It was time to invite her to the feast. The kitchen has been tasked with creating the most exquisite feast imaginable—hopefully worthy of one of your—

"And the loyalty of your servants!" she went on, positively gushing. "It leaves me dazzled, my Prince! You truly have a piece of paradise woven for yourself and your subjects here, and I just know I'll treasure this visit for the rest of my life. Indeed, I pray I might have occasion to return." She winked.

He laughed slightly. "Princess Jenne, you are very... very kind. Now, the... the, ah, ki—"

"The runework is remarkable, too. Really, very advanced. My head thrums with its power." Jenne gave a funny half-smile, putting a finger to her lips and swinging her hips to one side. "Well, anyways, I don't know about you, but I'm absolutely famished."

"Ah. Yes." Felic nodded quickly, mind racing to keep up. "Yes, the kitchen has been..."

"Oh, how rude of me," Jenne exclaimed, slapping her forehead. She glanced back at the four women with her—unlike them, they were dressed in lovely diaphanous red skirts and wore fairly minimalist silk wrappings for tied tops. Felic had paid them little mind, but he'd noticed his guards having a bit more trouble sticking to that level of discretion, as they were all quite... generous. "These are my attendants, by the way—Myrtle," she indicated a tall bespectacled blonde, who gave a gracious smile and curtsey, "Amanya," she indicated a shortstack brunette, who giggled and curtseyed, "Nualia," she indicated a particularly busty woman with lavender hair, who was already curtseying very low, "and Lleva."

The last attendant, a redhead with the build of a barmaid and the eyes of a firepit, smiled. She gave a slight curtsey, but never broke eye contact with Felic.

Something about that smile made Felic feel uneasy. It was a bit... too friendly. He quickly looked back to Kenne.

Jenne was talking again, of course. "Now, I know what you're thinking—only four attendants to cross the mountains? Heavens to Hyacinth! But as it happens, I only left with three originally! Yes, we were lucky enough to happen upon a friendly lot of merchants embarked on the same journey as we, and fortune smiled on us when we encountered Lleva—a tailor of unspoken talent!"

"I aim to please My Lady," Lleva said quietly, smiling down at the floor.

"Indeed! And as my wardrobe was, well, always a little bit lacking..." Jenne pulled a face. "Would you believe I was originally going to be wearing my older sister's wedding dress? Absolutely unacceptable, especially for such a long trek, and quite forward at that to show up wearing a wedding dress, no?"

Felic laughed slightly, his cheeks heating up. Forward indeed.

She laughed as well. "No, no, it wouldn't do. So we hired Lleva on."

She paused, seemingly for breath.

"The roads are very perilous," Felic cut in, smiling slightly. He knew it should bother him how rude Jenne was being, but it was honestly a little refreshing. He had so few people ever talk to him normally, and here she was disregarding all etiquette and just... talking. Was it even rude? Or was this just how normal people spoke to one another?

"Oh, indeed!" Jenne nodded eagerly. "But those merchants were well-guarded, and Lleva felt quite safe with us."

"That's not what I..." He trailed off as he noticed Jenne's weighty gold earrings jangling slightly from her nodding, drawing Felic's attention to two notched, pointed ears.

Witch ears, grown longer and longer from spells cast.

Of course she had no fear of bandits. Felic cleared his throat, recovering some nervousness. "The kitchens have been... cooking a great deal," he said.

"Oh, exquisite! That's just splendid." Jenne beamed. "You have the loveliest castle I've ever seen! Please, please, I would love to see its banquet hall! The very thought has me weak at the knees and ready to drop and propose on the spot."

Felic laughed despite himself. He beckoned grandly. "Then you shall see it."

~ ~ ~ ~

"... and so in the end, as it turned out, the lady wasn't even a dryad!" Jenne shook her head ruefully. "She was just a, ah, woman of easy virtue who'd gotten cursed and decided to make her new living as a confidence woman."

Felic giggled. "The farmer must have been furious."

"Oh..." Jenne gave a sly smile. "Fortunately for the lady, the farmer was rather unable to complain by that time. The curse's pollen had him terribly distracted. I got both of them to promise to leave each other be in exchange for unweaving that nasty little spell."

"Princess Jenne, you are very kind."

"Am I?" Jenne winked. "I may or may not have been the one who cursed her to begin with."

Felic nearly choked on his wine. "No!"

"Yes!" Jenne raised her glass with a wide, wicked grin. "Oh, yes, I fear that lady had rather deceived one of my less cautious broth—"

"My Lady!" hissed Myrtle, glancing up abruptly from her own conversation.

A pause.

"Mm." Jenne blinked innocently. "I'm afraid I can't quite recall the rest of that story, my Prince."

"Felic is fine." He winked and raised his goblet. "We are equals, here, my Princess."

He's drunk a little more than he'd planned, though not enough to become truly tipsy. He gazed at Jenne from across the banquet table, a little drunk on something that wasn't wine. Decorum dictated that the fiances must sit on opposite ends—especially if they were to be seen as equally powerful royalty. And Felic was determined to flatter her, to recover from his earlier stammering. It seemed to be working.

"Oh." Jenne batted her eyelashes, visibly blushing. "Felic, then. But... I do hope you don't mind if I still like to hear you say 'My Princess' on occasion. My Prince."

Felic knew he was blushing too. He raised his goblet higher. "To My Princess, Princess Jenne," he declared. "And to our kingdoms' lasting peace."