Rise of the Unfavored Princess

Chapter 76: Ch. 76: Assassin’s Creed IRL

I spent the following majority of the ride to Belhelm sulking over the three-inch piece of hair that is now missing from my hair.

“Just cut it all, right under my chin like this,” I instruct Emma.

“Your highness, you will regret this hasty decision,” she replies without missing a beat.

“Hasty? Look at me!” I wave at the unnoticeable chunk of hair I’m missing in my almost hip-length braids I can practically skip rope with.

“It truly wouldn’t be noticeable if you braided your hair again,” Emma replies robotically.

“But that wouldn’t change the fact that it’s gone! Is this... is this what amputees feel like?”

I know I’m being dramatic. But this missing lock of hair, as ‘small’ as Emma thinks it may be is just the final nail in the coffin of all the injuries I’ve accumulated. Taking inventory of every injury I’ve had since I was recognized as an imperial princess, I’ve hurt my tongue, throat, fingers, right hand, and shins. Now my hair just serves as a catalyst for me to whine about all my injuries.

.....

Clever Jack stares at me as if I’ve grown an extra head, while Tommen and Emmet sneak furtive glances when they think I’m not looking. I suppose they’re unaccustomed to my personality, although the late nights spent around a fire telling stories has helped alleviate the gap a little.

“Quit staring so much, unless you don’t want to hear the story of Rapunzel,” I say with a sly grin, already beckoning for everyone in the cart to gather round for another tale.

“Rapunzel? Is he a famous knight? Did he slay dragons?” Tommen excitedly blurts out and he shuffles over without any regard for Jack. I can tell the child in Jack wants to listen, but he’s intent on sitting on his hay bale in the corner like a king so I speak especially loud.

“Slay dragons? No, how dull would that be? She’s a princess blessed with long, magical hair as long as the tower she’s trapped in. But,” I shamelessly insert, “Before I carry on, I’m going to need a little bit of that muffin you ‘borrowed’ from the last tavern we stopped at, Emmet.”

“Blimey! No way!” cried Emmet, nearly releasing the reins in his hands as he flung a look back. But Tommen, in the manner of a good friend, reached into Emmet’s bag and pulled out the muffin wrapped up in a cheap, linen napkin.

“Tommen! You cursed dog. Stealin’ my food just for a story, eh?” Emmet whined. “I don’t care about stories, I want to hear what living in the imperial family is like!”

All eyes turn towards me and although no one backs up Emmet’s statement, they look like baby birds begging for food from their mother. I oblige, but suddenly feel a little shy.

“Well...” I start, loosening my collar slightly, “What you do wish to know?”

It makes sense that they’re curious. The same way my eyes unavoidably browsed tabloids about the British royal family at the grocery store check out, it must be the same for others.

“What’s it like being important?” Jack starts with a smirk.

I chuckle lightly. “Important? I’ll take it as noble. Well, the social season has just begun. Usually, that brings nobility away from their vassal regions that they stay in for a majority of the year into their mansions within the capital. They attend fancy events and try to make advantageous matches. As royalty, you can receive the best of the best of tributes from around the empire. And the imperial palace is as beautiful as it is dangerous.”

“But what about... the king? Y-your father. Oh! And your siblings.” There was a little awe in Tommen’s eye as he hands me the muffin.

“Well, being in his presence really can kill you, unless you’re related to him. He’s probably every bit as fearsome and scary as you’ve heard. Augustus,” my mind wanders back to how he scowled at me at the Spring Ball and I realize I’ve never even formally met the male lead. “He’s... well-loved by my father. My father doesn’t like any of us other than him. Julian, he’s a wily brat still suckling on his mother’s tit. And Julia is a demon spawn wrapped up in the body of an adorable little girl.”

“Pffff!” I hear beside me. I widen my eyes not sure if I heard correctly. Was that Emma... laughing?

But by the time I turn my head, she’s fallen back to her classic poker face.

The days were long, following the official ushering-in of summer after the festival. And for the first time, I am able to see what the world is like outside of Radovalsk. Exiting the capital, I can truly see what life is like for the Erudian populace. Nature is prolific here and not caged into the parks and elaborate hunting grounds that have been set up around the capital. The citizens and farmers wear simple homespun clothing and smile less at strangers. Inns charge far less than the run down ones in West Bend, a fact that surprised all of us as it is also Jack and Emma’s first time out of the big city.

Wood signs with chipping paint point out directions for Emmet’s sharp eyes to follow. The days of sitting in the rudimentary open cart have left a faint reddish burn on my face, laughing at my poor decision to not bring a bonnet along for the trip. But the rush of air along my face and the distant towns and cities we pass by bring me a certain levity that I haven’t felt since... honestly since I died.

My mother would’ve loved this. The clearly hand-constructed wood buildings, shepherd boys herding their family’s goats, a shoe peddler promising to make one’s shoes good as new for as little as 10 silver coins. We never traveled, but she had always found living in the countryside a quaint idea if it weren’t for the fact that we’re Hispanic and probably would get chased out with pitchforks. The ever-present smile that has grown on my face the further we get from the imperial palace and its elegant horrors fades away like morning fog. The muffin I’ve been knawing on for the past half hour tastes sour in my mouth.

Does she miss me? Has my mother perhaps moved away to another town now? I don’t even waste a single thought on that scumbag, Jonathan.

“Your highness?” Emma says when my expression twists out of shape.

“Your highness this, your highness that,” Jack lazily gripes as he flicks the horsewhip and narrowly misses my arm, “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

“Not really,” I answer as Jack sneers at my reply. But as unhumble as that answer sounds, the title doesn’t really bother me anymore. If I insist for others not to call me ‘your highness’ but still enjoy the trappings and privilege of a princess, as double-edged as those privileges currently are, I would look like a hypocrite at the end of the day.

The day I decided not to kick the bucket myself and return to the palace, I fully accepted the burden and perks of being a member of the imperial family.

Tommen tsks loudly to back up Jack. “You must be as bad as those noble snots who spend their free time running around the city and causing trouble.”

I roll my eyes. “They probably never had to worry about being murdered or beaten in their entire life. They definitely didn’t spend their earliest years growing up in poverty. And they’re certainly not buying some people a whole house just so they can ride on a rickety cart in the middle of nowhere on their way to a battlefront,” I retorted casually. Stinging Tommen with my sharp tongue turns the young boy red from annoyance and starts to buoy my poor mood as I get my mind off my mother.

We’ve meandered into a quiet town near the duchy of Avernall that should be only a few kilometers away from the duchy’s capital and our ultimate goal, Belhelm. The cobblestone is worn down and weak, crumpling along with the rest of the town’s infrastructure. As we bump along the road, lazy tumbleweeds rolling by us, I haven’t yet realized that this small village is very different from the others we’ve passed through.

“I heard Avernall was supposed to be wealthy, but this town reminds me quite fondly of home!” Emmet chortled from the front, prodding the horse to pick up its pace. He wasn’t wrong. A welcome diversion from the ensuing argument, all 4 of us in the back take the chance to look around the shantytown.

The slums of West Bend aren’t totally miserable, the dark alleys and broken streets occasionally revealing pockets of happiness. A few kids unearthing a silver ticket in the muck, the bells ringing throughout the entire capital on national holidays. But this place is truly lifeless.

There really isn’t a soul walking around, door clattering as the wind blows them open and reveals dark, abandoned interiors. Unease crawls over my flesh and gives me goosebumps, despite the warm summer sun still shining from above. My nervousness is shared by Jack and Emma, the latter of whom has already begun to settle her hand on the dagger hidden in her pocket.

“Just pick up the pace and get us out of this godforsaken wasteland,” Jack gripes at Emmet. But even if we’d had a car, we wouldn’t be able to escape.

There’s a long, slow whistle, easily audible to us all on the cart. Jack flinches, recognition lighting up his eyes instantly. He grabs Emma first, who grabs me, ducking us all down below the edge of the cart.

“Get down!” he barks. His warning is none too soon as an arrow comes careening over to where Tommen had been lounging comfortably just a moment before.

“Holy Akira!” cries Tommen, his face going white as the shaft of the arrow quivers from the power of the shot. The tip is buried deep into the wood and would have certainly killed the boy if he hadn’t moved. Time hangs in a balance, as our bodies go into fight or flight and everyone freezes on the belly of the cart. The horse, sensing the disturbance in the air whinnies loudly and begins to run as Emmet curses more heartily than a sailor.

“Looks like you brought baggage, passenger,” Jack mutters, his mouth inches from my ear where we are all laying like starfish to the seafloor. Interestingly, I don’t sense much fear from the lad, his eyes already shifting around the empty buildings to locate where the shooter came from.

Small black figures begin to scale the roofs toward us, making great haste as they slide and flip from building to building. Now that we have visual on them, the next time one fires an arrow, everyone takes cover, even Emmet who ties the reins to a hook on the driver’s seat and joins us behind.

“Blimey. That’s good aim,” Emmet marvels, chalking the distance between the shooters and us in seconds.

“Get down before you lose an eye,” I scold through clenched teeth, yanking the kid down as everyone else glares at him.

Life or death. I’ve faced it many times, but not quite like this. I almost want to laugh as we potentially ride to our deaths in a steedless horse in a duchy we’ve never been to. Katya, how thorough you are.

“So, let me guess. Compliments from your mum?” Jack mutters dryly.

“I would imagine that is the case.” I sound much calmer than I feel on the inside. Suddenly, 4 other lives are sitting in my hands, in addition to my own. The fragility of my existence I have always known, but I cannot stand the thought of condemning others to my death.

We are ahead of the assassins, but only marginally. All they’d need to do is hit the horse for us to end up in a horrid accident or get close enough to aim for the inside of our open-air cart. I push Emmett further inside, allowing my position to be further back and the easiest one to spot.

“Your highness!” Emma hisses angrily, grabbing my arm.

“No, this is fine. This is good. If they keep trying to aim for me, they’ll be less likely to try to shoot you lot,” I tell her in a stalwart manner. I’d pat myself on the back for my bravery if I weren’t nearly about to piss myself.