Two startled heads, one dark and one blond, swivelled around to face her as Kyriadra stepped into the main living room. The room itself was rich with the finest tapestries and furniture. The King stood by the strain glass window that showed roses and lilies in full blossom. The Queen sat in a red velvet chaise with gold and silver trimmings. As she looked at her daughter, Queen Aaralyn’s eyes widened with surprise. Kyriadra, however, faced her father. King Nathon’s face was shadowed, but his expression was still evident: he was not pleased.

"Kyriadra, what are you doing here? I did not raise my daughter right if she thought that she could walk in on private conversations," he said. King Nathon was tall, lean man with dark brown hair that greyed slightly at the temples.

The queen put a hand on the king’s arm to silence him. Then, in a softer tone, she added, "Darling, what’s wrong?"

Kyriadra breathed. "I heard what was going on. Why didn’t you tell me? Am I not mature enough to deserve to be the told the truth?" Her two parents stared at her wide-eyed in shock. Kyriadra struggled to continue. "We’re at war aren’t we. With Tyball. It’s why all these people are in our city, and it is why you are here, whispering alone. I-"

Aaralyn recovered first. "Listening to your parents conversations is not polite behaviour," she said sternly.

Leave me alone, mother. "I know, and it was wrong of me. But don’t you see? I want to help. Please, don’t send me away. I am not much for fighting...or leading either I suppose...but I can help bring food to the army. Nurse the sick ones...carry-"

"That’s enough," Nathon seethed. "Not another word. I will not listen. This is preposterous, Kyriadra. Do you hear yourself? You talk about helping and caring for the wounded in a war you know absolutely nothing about. We, your mother and I, are just trying to protect you."

"By sending me away?" Kyriadra’s eyes started to tear in frustration. "So that I’ll never know anything about real life, so that I’ll never understand? How can you keep me sheltered all my life, and then blame me for not understanding and not thinking? I’m not...trying to be ignorant and selfish. I’m..." She trailed off and finished lamely, "I just want to help."

"Hmph," snorted the King.

I sound, thought Kyriadra, like a complete idiot. No wonder my parents never give me any credit. Oh please, father, let me help. Oh please, mother, don’t send me away...I’m acting like a spoiled brat, and not at all like the princess I could be. Should be. This is not coming out the way I wanted it to. I need to tell them how much I love my home, my friends, this place. How when the sun rises every morning, ushering a new day upon the people of Achryn, it just fills me joy and love that these people, my people, live and prosper. How I would do anything to make this place happy. Kyriadra frowned and sighed. Why couldn’t I have said that? Words turn to whines somewhere between my brain and my mouth. Have to work on that. Right. Taking another breath, Kyriadra continued, a little more diplomatically. "I know I do not know much about the coming war, but I do know that it poses a threat to our nation’s existence and well-being. Please, your majesties, for the lov! e you have for me and this country, let me help."

The king sighed as well. "I know your intentions are good, daughter, but in truth, what can you do that another couldn’t?"

Kyriadra frowned and started to lose her temper. Why can’t I get through to them? See me. Listen. "Nothing father. That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it? But that does not mean that I will do nothing. I can do anything, anything you need. Cook, mend clothes-"

"You’ve never cooked in your life. And the only needle-work you’ve done is embroidery."

She breathed and tried again. "I can help the wounded-"

"Except you’ve never taken any interest in the healing arts before this."

One last ditch effort. "Let me fight then! I’ll take an army to right to the capital and defeat the enemy where he sleeps!" Kyriadra clutched her hands. Why are you being so impossible? Let. Me. Help.

"Now you’re getting desperate," said Queen Aaralyn scornfully. "And besides, if we were to allow you on the battle field, which I can tell you right now is a definite impossibility, what if you were killed? You father and I would never forgive ourselves."

Kyriadra wringed her hands, and clutched the front of her dress, every muscle tense. "I don’t...oh..how can you just sit there? Can’t you see how much I want to help? How much I want to be a part of this? I heard your plans. You’d rather let thieves and..and..mercenaries help than your own daughter. Do you even think they will? What loyalty to they have to us? I am nothing if not loyal. You even said you might let Irena stay! I know that she’s older that me, but we’ve had the same lessons. If she stays, why not let me as well? Please, I’m begging you. I love our country, I want to help. I can help-"

"Ria, darling, desist now," Aaralyn interrupted. "Never will your father and I permit you or Irenie to go anywhere near any part of the war. And if we do not let Irena stay, whatever gave you the idea that we would let you?"

Kyriadra screamed in frustration, "I’m not the heir! I’m expendable!"

Queen Aaralyn gasped in shock. Her eyes flashed, and she slapped her daughter hard across her cheek. Kyriadra stepped back from the force of the blow and cried out in pain. After a minute or so of awkward silence, Aaralyn spoke. "Never say that again, do you understand me?"

Wincing as she touched her flaming cheek, Kyriadra whispered, "Yes, your majesty."

Nathon spoke softly, but firmly to Kyriadra. "I will not change my decision no matter what you say. Pack a few things now, for you will leave this city tomorrow. If you’ll excuse us." And with that, the King and Queen left the room.

Kyriadra continued to stand where she was. Mother, she thought, for all that she has done, has never slapped me before.

Still numb from the shock of having been slapped, Kyriadra made her way to the red velvet chaise. She sat down with a sigh, leaned her head back into the fabric and closed her eyes. No, I will not cry. She bit down on her lip to keep the tears from spilling from her eyes. God, I have a headache. I can’t think right now...I need to lie down.

Kyriadra opened her eyes, blinking fast to rid herself of the wetness there, stood up and quietly made her way to her room. Once there, she threw herself on her bed and did not look up for a long time.

--

The sun had already started to set by the time Kyriadra awakened from her afternoon sleep. The sleep was fitful and not at all refreshing, but Kyriadra had opened her eyes with resolve in her heart and a plan in her head. She turned over so that she was lying on her back and stared at her ceiling. Mother and father are going to send me away tomorrow, so I have to leave tonight. Leave and do what, though? How can I help my people? What can I actually do without my parents... Kyriadra glared at the ceiling. I don’t need them. I can do this on my own. Kyriadra thought of all the people she saw outside the cathedral that morning: commoners, mercenaries and other such ilk gathered about her streets. Out of all these people, she thought, surely someone must help me. I need a group...to help me get to the border. I’m sure once I’m there I can do something. Right. Get to the Achryn-Tyball border. That’s the battle plan.

But first, I need to change. Kyriadra lifted herself up from her four-poster bed and rush to her wardrobe. She opened the wide cream coloured doors and rummaged through her clothes. After much head shaking and frustrated sighs, Kyriadra finally found what she was looking for. She pulled out a simple, yet exquisitely elegant velvet blue dress. It had long sleeves and a lot of embroidery, but was the only dress she could stand to travel in. Next, she ran to her vanity and picked up a small leather pouch, and placed several gold coins into it. Hesitating only a fraction of a second, Kyriadra turned to look around her room. "Oh, almost forgot..."

Kyriadra ran to her bedside and pulled out an old, battered book from under her pillow. It was a thick, leather-bound copy of the Ilirial, the sacred religious text of Achryn. Kyriadra sighed, and whispered, her voice quivering slightly, "I hope I’m doing the right thing," she bowed her head, "Sweet Ilithya, hear my prayer...for the past to rest well, for the present to remain awake, and for a future to dream upon. Let our country have a future. Let me do this." She straightened her head, took a deep breath, and walked out of her room.

Kyriadra shuffled down the magnificent hallways of the castle, trying not to make too much noise, trying not to look too scared. This is me, walking down the hall, just like any other day, she repeated, over and over in her head. She passed many servants, many of whom looked up and smiled, for they loved their young princess. Kyriadra smiled back weakly, trying not to feel guilty about running away. She walked by beautiful tapestries, richly woven with red and yellow taffeta. Upon them were stories of the Kingdom’s history: other battles, great Kings, and much rejoicing filled the cloth with life and beauty. Kyriadra glanced at the images and her mind finally settled. I’m not going to let Tyball destroy this. So many lives, so much history, so much love resides in the soil of my country. I’m going to let that die. I’m going to make it grow. She hurried on.

A few more footsteps found her at the base of the staircase to her parent’s wing. Kyriadra looked up and was forced, once again, to blink back tears. I’m not your baby anymore, mother, she thought. You can’t protect me anymore. You said so yourself, a long time ago...

Queen Aaralyn continued to hold her crying daughter, but her brow was creased with worry and a frown crossed her lips. "Baby...honey...listen to me?" She took Kyriadra’s chin firmly in her hand and raised Kyriadra’s head to meet her own eyes.

"Yes, mother?" Kyriadra’s voice quivered.

"There’s something I need to tell you. I was going to wait until you were older, but I can’t protect you any longer...I can’t protect you any longer. You have to know the truth...about my sins, my secrets.." Aaralyn drifted off with a broken mutter of "why did this happen? Am I so ill-omened? I don’t understand...how can this be?"

Kyriadra reached up and placed a shaking hand upon her mother’s cheek. With a tearful, fearful little voice, she whispered, "What don’t you understand?"

Kyriadra resolutely turned her face away and walked on. Mother, I’ll make you proud of me.

The guards stood still outside the front entrance as she reached it. The sun was now a red globe pulsating upon the misty horizon. A cool night breeze had sprung up, and Kyriadra wished she had thought to bring a cloak. The guards, two tall, burly, middle-aged men, had not seen her yet. They wore shiny silver mail and great helmets upon their heads. They also carried swords and daggers about their person. King Nathon only chose the best for his castle; these guards would not let her through alone after dark. They marched back and forth in front of the way out.

Kyriadra snuck behind a nearby cherry tree, and waited. And waited. She didn’t know how long she must have waited for the guards to leave, until it occurred to her that they wouldn’t. All she knew was that the sun had long since gone down, and she was still inside the palace. After cursing herself for her inexperience and silliness, Kyriadra began to plot a plan to get herself past the guards. After a long deliberation, she finally gave a sigh. Only one thing for it, she thought, and gathered up her concentration.

Suddenly, the helmets of the two guards flew right off their heads and landed some distance away to the side of the entrance. The guards looked at each other strangely, for there was no wind, then shrugged and jogged off to retrieve their errant helmets. While this was happening, Kyriadra snuck past the gate.

That was so undignified, Kyriadra sniffed in disdain. But at least I’m here. Now to find my army. Kyriadra lifted her head and strode towards Damali’s central square.

--

The city of Damali was truly alive at night, especially now, with all the additional populace. The city was alive with people doing all sorts of wondrous things, and Kyriadra’s eyes widened as she tried to take it all in. The night was far from dark, with multitudes of candles streaming light from every window. The doors were all open in welcome and cheery, boisterous songs could be heard from within. There were many people walking about the streets and many inns filled to the rafters with mercenaries of all kinds. Lanterns were lit, and the streets were bathed in multicoloured shadows. Food and drink stalls could be seen at every corner, and the rich aromas from them filled Kyriadra’s entire being.

As Kyriadra entered the central square of Damali, she felt more timid than she ever had in her life: the square was almost overflowing with men and women, and almost all of them were fully armed. Kyriadra clutched desperately at her Ilirial. Sweet Ilithya give me strength.

The runaway princess slowly made her way to the centre of the lit square. Nobody paid any attention to her, for they were either too drunk to notice or too busy going about their own business. Alcohol spilled freely upon the cobblestones, and most men were singing wildly at the moon. The central square itself was more circular than a square. Terra cotta cobblestones were laid out in a fashion that was almost more appropriate for a stain glass window than a paved ground. In the centre of the square was a large, white marble fountain. The fountain was an idol of the Goddess Ilithya, whom the people of Achryn worshipped. Water spilled from a jug at her side, and she was portrayed as a young woman with flowing hair. It was at the base of this fountain that Kyriadra placed herself. She took a deep breath and looked around.

"People of Damali," Kyriadra began, "please listen to..oh..." The speech faltered as a men lurched past Kyriadra, almost knocking her off her feet. Stumbling, Kyriadra caught herself just as she was about to fall, and heaved herself back up by pushing against the base of the fountain. She glanced at her hand; it was shaking. Stop it, she scolded herself, you’ve made speeches before. Yes, another voice from within whispered, but not like this. Not against my parent’s wishes, not as the dark of night hides my inner guilt. Kyriadra shook her head and angrily pushed back her fear. I have to do this for Achryn, no matter how scared I am. If I don’t, who will? I’m their Princess. It is my obligation.

"People of Damali! Friends from afar! Citizens, countrymen, warriors!" Kyriadra exclaimed, making her voice as loud, forceful, and emotional as it could be. Heads turned, and voices lowered. Encouraged, she continued. "I am Kyriadra Saoirse of Achryn, your princess and your servant. I come to you now, however, as a comrade in need, and I hope to entreat you into helping me. You all have gathered here for a reason, a terrible reason: we are at war with Tyball. War, my friends, never leads to anything, but death, horror, and destruction. It kills, it cripples, and it curses the land under its evil, biting spell. Achryn is a beautiful land with history, love, and care imbued into its very soil. It is a land filled with the people we love, from the babies we born to the elders we bury, and we cannot let anyone take it away from us! This is why you must help me to conquer Tyball. Who among you men and women are strong enough and brave enough to aid me in my quest? Who among yo! u possess the valiant hearts I need to take me to the border? I must reach the border of Achryn and Tyball, for there I will be able to bring about the end of the war that tears our nation apart! I entreat you, I beseech you, I adjure you, please help me. Please do this for your princess, your country, and its very spirit!" Kyriadra ended her breathless exclamation. Her entire body shook from fear and her exertion, and the palms of her hands were sweating profusely. She waited for the crowd’s response.

Human silence echoed in the central square of Damali. Not a word, not a whisper, and the cricket’s song soared up into the sky. Suddenly, it was interrupted by a loud, drunken snort. A burly man dressed a tunic strained with claret wine lurched up to his feet and belched, "N’who the hell are you? I ain’t gonna believe you fer bein’ a princess, girlie, what wi’ the king being jussup the road ‘n all." He sniggered, "Yer prolly jus’ some country wench, an’ iffn tha’ bein’ the case," his face opened up in a nasty leer, "I’m strong enow fer you girlie..." He hiccuped to a stop, and moved a little closer to where Kyriadra was standing.

Kyriadra’s eyes widen in shock as she stepped away from the fountain and away from the drunken man. She let out a small shriek as she stepped into another man. This man was tall and lean; a trained warrior. He frowned as he spoke, "Surely you don’t expect us to believe that you’re the Princess of Achryn." He grabbed her arm, and sneered angrily, "What do you take us for, eh? Raving idiots who drink donkey piss? You even got money to pay us, girlie?"

Kyriadra yanked her arm out of the man’s grasp and cried, "Leave me alone! I am who I say!" No one has ever treated me like this before, she thought fearfully. Why won’t they believe me?

"Sure you are, sure you are." Another mercenary drew near, leering as the first one had. "And are you goin’ a take us to yer palace too, dearie?"

Another man jeered, "I’ll take the lass to my palace..."

The drunken men were converging upon Kyriadra, as they backed her up against a tavern wall on the edge of the square. Kyriadra’s back hit the wall with a loud thud; she had never been so afraid, had never felt so threatened in her entire life. Oh Ilithya, her thoughts desperately wailed, please help me...someone help me...her prayer was broken as someone grabbed her arm and pulled. She let out a terrified shriek as someone else grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked. Kyriadra’s unseeing eyes flickered back and forth as she kicked and screamed in terror. What’s happening? Leave me alone! Get away, get away, GET AWAY!

Using all her strength and concentration, Kyriadra slowly pushed back against the men. Before they could realize what was going on, and before they realized that she couldn’t possibly be strong enough to do this, she had made a hole in the crowd around her, and had wriggled herself through it. Then, with a cry, Kyriadra ran from the square as fast as she could. Maybe I’ve made a mistake, she thought, as she ran away from the noise...I’ve never felt so helpless.

Kyriadra ran blindly on into darker streets and dimmer side paths. She had no idea where she was going, nor did she care. Damali had transformed from a loving home into a fearful place full of strangers. Tears clouded her sight as she stumbled in the darkness. Suddenly, Kyriadra tripped over a soft lump on the ground. She fell with a shout and landed face first upon the dank ground. Struggling to rise, Kyriadra wiped her eyes clear and peered at the lump. Her eyes widened and she gasped in horror. "Dear Ilithya," the scared, tired and frightened princess whispered, "it’s a body..."