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Sonya Tahir, Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Fairendelle, stood in a dark corner outside the castle’s walls and chopped off her hair. The scissors were much more practical than the small dagger she had in her bag. With its carved marble hilt and the miserably blunt blade, the dagger was more decorative than anything else. Her father, King Roshan, worried she’d nick herself on it and so he ensured the blade always remained dulled.
‘Why not teach me how to use it instead?’ Sonya had once asked, not out of insolence, but out of genuine curiosity. It seemed the more practical route.
The king had huffed and puffed. He was a tall and stout man with ruddy cheeks and a thick mustache, the black hair of which had long turned gray.
‘You are far too delicate, meri bachi,’ he had replied.My little girl.He then gave a glance to Sonya’s three elder brothers, and they’d all nodded in agreement.
‘Quite right, Baba, quite right,’ they had responded in a unified chorus.
Perhaps her fatherwasright, and Sonya was far too delicate. As she cut off her dark hair, her arm muscles ached. With a sigh, she dropped her hand, resting for a moment before returning to her hacking.
Sonya was famed for the black tresses that fell to her waist, thick and long, which was precisely why they needed to go. She continued chopping, listening to the sound of the shears moving. She knew the cut was uneven, but she had no care for vanity and needed to be quick.
Moonlight shone from above, dimmed by the cloudy sky. Light rain fell from the clouds, picking up in intensity.Good, Sonya told herself, even as she got wet.The rain will cover my tracks.
Sonya finished cutting her hair and watched as strands drifted in the wind. The sight of the hair in her clenched fist made a sob rise in her throat. In all the portraits of the mother she’d never met, the late Queen Zoya’s hair was long and dark like Sonya’s.
Her hair had been long her entire life, sixteen years. Even as a child, her braid fell down her back.
Now, with the hair cut above her shoulders, her head felt so much lighter but the black locks were heavy in her hands. Sonya looked around, searching for a spot to hide them. She was at the lowest level of the towering castle, in a quiet corner outside the staff accommodation.
The rain came down more quickly, and Sonya dashed over to the bushes. She kicked aside some dirt and went to her knees,burying the hair deep in the ground, where it wouldn’t be found. She scrambled to cover the hair with more dirt and saw, with disdain, that some of it had got on her dress.
She was wearing a maid’s uniform. It was much simpler than anything she had ever worn; it felt strange not to have the fabric of a floor-length gown swishing around her feet. This dress fell down to her calves and was made of a basic linen. The corset laced in the front for practicality, and she wore an apron on top.
At least the tailoring was well done. She could recognize the masterful hand of a stitch-witch.
Sonya rubbed some of the dirt onto her face, chafing at the feeling. It was necessary, she reminded herself. A shiver ran down her spine; it was early April, the beginning of spring and not quite warm out yet. She clutched her bag, which had very little: she had taken some bits from the kitchen, and a few coins.
While Sonya was a princess, she did not have access to the fortune of the crown—not like her brothers did. She had taken these coins from her eldest brother Shahmir’s room, where she often noticed he would carelessly leave them lying about. Of course, no one would dare risk stealing from the future king. On the other hand, Sonya never had any money because everything she ever needed or wanted was immediately procured for her and she very rarely left the castle grounds.
And now, Sonya was running away.
She couldn’t stay at the castle for another moment.
Taking a deep breath, Sonya walked along the side of the castle in the quiet night to reach a pathway, from where she walked down to the exit of the castle grounds. Her heart began beating fast as she approached the soldiers guarding the gates. In the cold, her body began quivering, and she held her arms to stop the shaking.
Sonya kept her gaze down, letting some of her short hair fall infront of her dirtied face. She kept her pace natural; she could not run. She needed to pass without notice as she grew closer and closer to the soldiers in their silver armor. As the clouds shifted, moonlight was cast over the soldiers, and their swords glinted in the light.
Sonya’s heart pounded. Then the moment arrived; she was at the gates.
Holding her breath, she walked past the guards.
They didn’t even give her a second glance, clearly convinced she was nothing more than a simple maid. Sonya quickened her pace, and it was only after she was out of sight of the soldiers that she allowed herself to relax ever so slightly.
Sonya knew too that no one would expect her to run away. Not the princess who hardly ever left her tall tower, let alone the castle grounds. While she had been apprehensive, she wasn’t nearly as frightened as she thought she would be.
She kept walking, heading towards Castletown. She had hardly made it onto the busy streets when she heard the distant sound of horses neighing, followed by the telltale sound of clinking armor.
She gasped, a tremor running through her body. Surely they hadn’t already caught on to her? Fear beat through her and she began running.
It was late, but the town was teeming with life. Sonya caught fragments of impressions through the rain as she made her way deeper into the town: carriages and people, slick cobblestone steps, the echo of laughter. She was out of breath, her vision blurring from fatigue and the rainfall.
Sonya paused to catch her breath, then was shoved. ‘Oh!’ she said, but the group of men walking past didn’t even hear her startled cry.
She looked around, eyes wide. She had never seen this many people before in her life. All sorts of people! She would have beenawed if she wasn’t so afraid.
