#Tunican

[im-a-wonderling]

Once A Heart Is Given ~ a continuation of Sorrows Can Swim

It's definitely true that art mimics life. Thanks to certain life events, I'm feeling remarkably similar to Prince, so...I guess inspiration is my silver lining?

Warnings: none

Word count: 2.2k

Sorrows Can Swim masterlist

-

Prince was tired of meetings. He was tired of people needing him. And he was tired of this life he called his own. 

The council, fully composed of men greyer than rainclouds and wrinklier than raisins, sat at the big table. They never looked at him with anything less than expectancy, waiting for him to listen and make the big decisions that came with his duty. 

“We’ll send funds to the village, but discreetly,” Prince decided, hating that he had to be subtle with his support at the risk of offending the nobility, but unwilling to let his people flounder. 

The men leaned in towards each other, debating his decision with those calculating eyes and lowly spoken words. Prince waited for them to raise a complaint meant for his ears, but the murmuring eventually died. “Are we settled?” he asked the room at large. The men didn’t speak, to agree or disagree, which was a telltale sign they felt they were doing him a great service in humoring him. 

Prince ached for a kind word from them, but that was like waiting for fairies to come, pointless and even if it happened, only a luxury. 

“Is that all for today?” he asked the council, concealing his weariness the best he could. 

The head councilman bowed. “Yes, sire, that’s all for the day.”

“Then I will see everyone tomorrow.” The council all got up from their chairs, bowed as one, and filed out of the room, talking amongst themselves again. 

They have each other, Prince lamented. I have no one. 

Prince’s shoulders slumped as he rubbed his eyes against the harsh, bright afternoon sun streaming into the room. He got up, turning to grab a fistful of the curtain, intending to close it and shut away the light. 

But then he caught sight of the garden below and the beauty running amongst the hedges. 

Princess.

Her long, unbound hair streamed behind her, her fists pumping as she ran. She reached the fountain and spun, the pale purple fabric of her dress billowing around her as she spun a full circle and a half, allowing her to face the castle once again. Her radiant smile was aimed at the ladies that were catching up to her. 

What would it feel like to have that smile aimed at him?

Her mouth opened, and even through the glass, his ears caught her merry laughter. His heart swelled, and a pained croak fell from his lips. 

He couldn’t contain it, the way he felt for her. He ached to hear her laugh again, but with the way his heart seemed to grow every time he heard it, it might grow too big for his chest if she did. He felt as if a piece of her was inside him, like she was interwoven in his being, and in the piece’s mighty effort to return to her, it nearly dragged him with it. He considered it a minor miracle that it wasn’t her name he said every time he opened his mouth. He couldn’t imagine what the council would think of him if that were the case. 

Princess tagged one of the ladies and ran away, shrieking from the excitement of the game. 

A sigh left him, and he allowed his forehead to rest against the glass, his eyes following her every movement. He knew he needed to look away, if not out of respect then for his own sanity. He needed to banish her from his mind or he would spend forever watching her from this window. If Princess were to look up through the window, she would catch sight of the fond smile toying at her husband’s mouth. But Princess kicked off her shoes, oblivious to her spectator as she lifted her skirts and ran. 

And he couldn’t look away.

He’d spent most of his life either looking at or looking for her. 

Every summer since Prince turned ten and Princess turned eight, she’d spent in this castle. Prince could still remember the first day she’d arrived in a blue carriage with golden accents, the Tunican colors. Nursemaid had all but wrestled Prince into his best clothes. As they stood outside the castle, watching the carriage appear in the distance, Nursemaid lightly smacked Prince’s hand every time he reached up to scratch the itchy collar. When the carriage came to a stop and a footman opened the door, Prince expected a bratty, snooty girl to step out.

A snooty girl indeed was who took the footman’s waiting hand. Once she was out of the carriage, she stood on the ground, blinking out at all the people standing in the castle courtyard waiting for her. Prince had started to groan, not looking forward to the bowing and scraping that was about to occur. 

But before anything of the kind happened, the girl took off like a shot, running not towards the people or back into the carriage, but off to the side, towards the royal orchard. 

The footman, clearly used to this behavior, ran after her, calling her name, and a few other servants joined in the chase, including Nursemaid.

But Prince looked back at the carriage to see two dainty blue shoes, laying discarded in the dust of the path from where Princess had kicked them off. 

Never in his life had Prince known chaos like the day Princess sprinted through the courtyard and into his life. And nothing else in his life had he wished for since. 

“Sire?” 

Prince jerked away from the window, blinking as his eyes tried to adjust to the darkness of the room that had been too bright moments before. “Yes?” 

“I have done as you ask.” 

Finally, Prince’s eyes adjusted to see Maid standing in the doorway, looking a bit confused. “I’m listening.” He tried to arrange himself in a very thoughtful, serious position.

Maid swept into a deep curtsey. “Sire, she said she has no need for jewelry or clothes, sire, nor stationary or books.” 

Prince frowned. His sneaky attempts once again failed to find out what Princess wanted for her birthday—which was two days away. It would be her first birthday in Prince’s kingdom, her first birthday as his wife. He wanted her to enjoy it, and he was getting desperate. 

“What about a horse?” he asked desperately.

Maid shook her head. “She has a prize mare already, sire.”

Prince pursed his lips, deep in thought. 

With their lives similarly decadent, what riches could he offer her? The only thing he could give with value other than monetary was his heart, and he’d given it to her already. She didn’t want it, he knew that, and if it were humanly possible, he would’ve taken it back long ago. Prince wasn’t even sure that a heart could be taken back once it was given. 

“But if I may?”

Prince looked up at Maid, her fingers anxiously smoothing down her skirt, betraying her unease when her face didn’t. “Yes?” he said.

“She mentioned that she wants to go see Queen’s Veil Falls.” 

Prince turned back to look at Princess, who was much further through the garden now. The waterfall was one of Prince’s favorite places in the whole kingdom. 

As he watched Princess roll on the grass in an attempt to dodge one of the ladies, a plan started forming in Prince’s head. “Thank you, that will be all.”

“Sir, you…you don’t want to hear anything else?”

Prince furrowed his brows, spinning to see Maid’s furrowed brows. “What else is there?”

Maid glanced over her shoulder and then lowered her voice. “There’s a man–”

“No!” Prince said, so loudly, Maid flinched. “I’m sorry.” Prince rubbed his forehead, reeling back his feelings and pushing them down. “You’re dismissed.”

His outburst must’ve frightened her, for Maid curtsied and scurried away. 

What had she been about to say? It certainly would’ve involved Guard, but was it information Prince already knew? Or was there more?

Prince swallowed hard and pulled out a map, forcing himself to stare at the location of Queen’s Veil Falls. 

The waterfall was a pleasant, secluded space. Prince had never been there with more than three people, and often, he simply went by himself. But Princess wouldn’t want to spend her birthday with Prince, and he couldn’t send her ladies there without an escort, and an escort would make the group too big.

But there was a way for Princess to go to the waterfall with only one other person, someone who was very capable of protecting her, and possibly the person Princess would most enjoy going with. 

-

Prince waited until the next morning before going to the barracks.

The dimly lit room contained twenty beds, ten on each side. Nineteen of the beds were empty, only one bed was occupied: the bed in the corner, furthest away from the light. The torches had been snuffed, leaving the sunlight streaming through two tiny windows as the only source of light in the room.

Prince walked briskly to the bed, eyeing the lump underneath the blanket. Guard was on duty the night before and was now catching up on some much needed sleep. Normally, Prince would avoid waking him at all costs, for Guard was already problematic enough to deal with when he’d slept well.

But this conversation couldn’t wait with the Princess’s birthday being the next day. 

“I have work for you,” he told the lump still in bed.

The lump moved from beneath the blanket, and Guard’s groggy face appeared. Any other soldier in this castle would leap out of bed, standing at attention with poker straight posture. But Guard merely rubbed his eyes. “What?” he said, irritated. 

“Princess’s birthday is tomorrow.” 

Guard propped himself up on his elbows, blinking sleepily at Prince. “And?”

Prince stood statue still. Somewhere inside surely resided anger, but all Prince could feel was misery. Everyone deserved to be celebrated on their birthday. If Guard cared a mite for Princess, he’d commit himself to her enjoyment. But he didn’t, so he wouldn’t. Over and over, Guard’s actions spoke of nothing but self-interest, and Prince only had himself to blame for being disappointed. 

He took a deep breath and blew it out as slowly as he could. “Princess wants to go to Queen’s Veil Falls. If the two of you leave after breakfast tomorrow, she can have lunch at the falls and be back before dinner. I think–”

“What’s in it for me?” Guard interrupted, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“A picnic. The chance to see a beautiful place. Time with Princess away from the castle.” Guard raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed, and Prince scowled. “You’ll have a day free of duties aside from keeping her safe. That must be sorely tempting.”

Guard smacked his lips, as if he were literally tasting the offer and deciding his verdict. “Very well.”

Prince stared as Guard yawned and stretched.

What would he himself give to be the one Princess wanted to celebrate her birthday with? If some witch could somehow make Princess naturally love Prince…why, Prince would give the witch anything she wanted, perhaps even his life’s purpose—his kingdom. And here Guard was, acting as though this opportunity, as though Princess were burdensome?

Guard’s eyes lazily passed over Prince, but then he froze in his position with his arms stretched towards the ceiling. Then, he lowered his arms and pushed himself up on his feet. “Does His Highness have something to say?” he asked, his mocking voice undermining the title. 

Prince turned away. “The kitchens will prepare the picnic basket, and the stables will have two horses saddled and waiting for you.”

“Look at me!” Guard shouted, and Prince looked over his shoulder to see a dangerous light flickering in Guard’s eyes. “You don’t get to dismiss me.”

“I’m not.”

Guard advanced on Prince. “You will treat me with the respect I’m owed, or I’ll–”

“Spill the beans. I’m aware.” Prince held his clasped hands behind him, looking Guard directly in the eye. If only Guard knew what the kitchen staff normally did to rats, then he’d have no doubt that Prince was already treating him much better than he deserved.

Guard’s mouth suddenly spread into a nasty smile as he made a show of dusting off the shoulder of Prince’s doublet. “No matter. Your wife treats me well enough for both of you.”

Maybe Prince should’ve punched in Guard’s nose right then and there. Ordered him out of the castle. Called for the other soldiers to throw him in prison.

He was too defeated to do anything of the kind.

Prince just tiredly blinked at Guard, waiting until the man was satisfied enough to allow him to leave without more grandstanding.

Guard stepped back. And then he spat.

Prince lowered his gaze to the glob of saliva now darkening the front of his shirt.

“You’re pathetic,” Guard said in a low tone. “And your wife knows it.” 

Prince waited for the searing, poker-hot pain to shoot through his chest, but he felt nothing. Nothing at all. His heart made nary a peep. Perhaps it really was wholly and completely Princess’s, so far gone, it resided in his chest no longer. “Don’t forget about tomorrow,” he said quietly before turning away.

“Come back here!” Guard shouted, but Prince ignored him.

He had a meeting to go to, and apparently he had to change his shirt.

-

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[orgu-evi-blog]

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[dococt86]

Reposted from @therealblackhistorian - The Washitaw were direct descendants of the Olmecs who mixed in with the Malian Moors. The name "Washitaw" comes from the Washita River which flows along Northwest Texas and Oklahoma to the Red River, where the Cheyenne Native Americans lived with the Chawasha, meaning "Racoon People" . The Washo were a tribe of Negroids who lived above the New Orleans Bayou and were of Tunican linguistic stock. The name "Washitaw" is a derivative of the term "Ouachita" or what is now "Wichita". The term is a Choctaw term which means "Big Arbor" which represented the Grass thatched arbor homes that the people lived in. The Washitaw was originally from lower Mississippi, Louisiana, and Alabama (named after Nubian-Sudanese Ali Baba). The tribe was officially named "Wichita" by the U.S. Government in the Camp Holmes Treaty of 1835. This tribe were unmistakably a Negroid tribe! The Wichita were also known as "Paniwassaha" or by the French "Panioussa" which means "Black Pawnee." French traders from Illinois called them "Pani Pique" which means "Tattooed Pawnee." The Washitaw or "Racoon People" were called Racoons because of their black faces. When describing the Washitaw, the French describes the blacks who lived in large grass houses. The Washitaw called themselves "Kitikitish" which is an interpretation of "Raccoon Eyed." The term was later shortened to "Coon" which became a term used in reference to blacks in America. The Washitaw were an offshoot of the Pawnee Confederation. When the Moors came to America, they mixed in with the Washitaw Native Americans and became known as "Washo." So the Washitaw Moors are the so-called "Lost" tribe of Indians that are spoken of in the history books? Yes! They are the hidden tribe that were the descendants of the Olmecs and Toltecs of Mexico. The Washitaw tribe are also the ancestors to such tribes as Pawnee, Osage, Creek, Seminole, Cherokee, Catawba, Comanche, Nez Perce, Tuscarora, Gingaskin, Mattaponi, Powhatten, Micmac, Lumbi, Mandan, Blackfoot, Natchez, Chickasaw, and many more tribes. The misconception is that Black Indians were never taken into slavery. This is not the case. - #regrann https://www.instagram.com/p/BupjiyEFL2G/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1qqqy0tiztthr

[hottytoddynews]

Who built the mounds? Why did they leave? Where did they go? Archaeologists are still digging for answers.

A fragment dug up from one of the houses that used to dot the Winterville property.

This story was republished by permission of the Meek School of Journalism and New Media.

WINTERVILLE — Amid vast fields of corn, cotton and soy in the flat expanse of the Mississippi Delta, 12 unnatural masses of land stand like grassy trapezoids risen out of the dirt. Eight hundred years ago, at this site one mile south of Greenville, Native American hands built something special.

The first mounds at Winterville were erected on a natural Mississippi River levee. The river has shifted westward over the centuries.

This place, home to one of the tallest mounds between the Emerald Mound in Natchez and Cahokia in Illinois, is shrouded in an air of mystery. Archaeologists still theorize on exactly who built the mounds and what led to their disappearance.

The Winterville Mounds are now considered an important piece of the puzzle of pre-historic Mississippi natives. They are home to heaps of historical information, artifacts, and human bones — all clues to what happened here.

In 1907, archaeologist C.B. Moore ventured from his usual excavation site in Moundville, Ala., and sank over 100 holes at Winterville. He didn’t find anything he considered worthy of further exploration, such as pottery or human remains.

You walk out back of the museum to access the mounds.

Luckily, when word got out that he had found nothing, people left the mounds virtually untouched and, most importantly, un-looted.

It wasn’t until Jeffrey Brain’s extensive investigation of the site in partnership with the Lower Mississippi Survey at Harvard University in 1967 that it was revealed to be an important piece of Native American history. Brain’s photo now hangs in a place of honor at the small state museum here.

In 1939, as farms and highway construction threatened the mounds, the Greenville Garden Club bought the property to preserve it. About 40 years later, it became a state park, and in 1993, a National Historic Landmark. Now, schools in the area use it for educational field trips.

In the mornings, site director Mark Howell and archaeologist Mark Dingeldein host groups of youth, who explore the mounds, participate in interactive activities, and examine artifacts from Winterville and the surrounding Delta.

The museum at Winterville Mounds. There are plans to enlarge it.

Ultimately, the site will be home to a larger museum and even more interactive educational opportunities. In 2015, the Legislature passed a bond bill that gave Winterville $300,000 to restore the site.

There are plans for a new gate and totem poles representing eight Mississippi tribes surrounding the museum. The new museum will encapsulate all of Mississippi’s Native American history — not just that of the Winterville site.

“The [museum] we have was built in ’68… It’s got problems. It’s not really large enough to suit our purposes, particularly since this is the biggest site in Mississippi,” Howell said.

Indeed, Winterville is a special jewel on the state’s new Mound Trail, which invites tourists and residents to explore the many mounds built by some of the 22 tribes that populated Mississippi more than 200 years ago.

Mound A, one of the tallest in the United States, is fifty-five feet tall but overcome with trees, weeds, and bushes because of lack of funding.

The bunker-like museum, which from the outside looks like a small, grassy mound, is home to various artifacts, maps and explanatory posters. Within the mounds, layers of long-buried history wait to be extracted from the packed dirt.

Some of what has already been unearthed: bones from burial mounds, pottery both intact and in shards, tools, and arrowheads, or “projectile points.” Some are made from rock, such as obsidian or quartz, that had to have traveled a great distance to find a resting place in Mississippi. This indicates that the Winterville site was a stopping-off point on Native American trade routes.

Small animal remains were dug up earlier this summer by archaeological students from Southern Mississippi University.

“You have rock that comes from as far east as North Georgia and also from Arkansas and Oklahoma. A lot of it was all pretty much from the Delta, but where are you going to get this black obsidian in the Mississippi Delta? You’re not. Quartz? No. You’re going to have to go up in the mountains somewhere,” Dingeldein said.

People did not often occupy the site itself, but rather, surrounding villages. Dingledein describes the area as a ceremonial site or center for trading, operating much like a fair of sorts.

The mysterious builders have left hints in layers of the mounds, such as the remains of burned homes or ceremonial structures. Digs have indicated that a large complex succumbed to a spectacular fire in the biggest mound. These types of findings have given rise to all sorts of speculation as to what went on here.

A piece of clay pot found at Winterville Mounds in the recent dig.

Howell said radiocarbon dating shows Winterville was most likely abandoned in the 1600s, before the first French explorers appeared.

“The first documentation of people here, written documentation, is by (Spanish conquistador Hernando) de Soto. There’s some pretty good documentation of frontal nations, cities, people in the Mississippi Delta and across the river into Arkansas,” Howell said.

By “de Soto,” Howell is referring to the chroniclers of his expedition in 1540, which left archaeologists with a slew of information about Mississippi natives. Historians caution that some of these accounts are inevitably polluted with inaccuracies because of the language barrier between the Spanish and the natives.

Nonetheless, they write of place names and chiefdoms, which can help pinpoint language groups, Howell said. In 1542, de Soto died and, according to legend, his body was tossed into the Mississippi River to keep news of his death from the natives.

Site director Mark Howell said Winterville was likely abandoned in the 1600s, before French explorers appeared.

A puzzle piece in the ongoing mystery of Winterville’s history is an ancient city known as Quigualcum. Spanish chroniclers wrote of the city. Though it was most likely misspelled due to the language barrier, Howell said archaeologists theorize that Winterville could be this ancient city.

“Because of geography and now because of radiocarbon dating, because of the size of Winterville and where the Spanish were when they came across this name, there are some theories. It’s being renewed now, that Winterville, its real name was Quigualcum. If that’s true, this puts a real name to a place — a really neat name to a place — and also puts it in history,” he said.

The etymology of the word leads historians to believe that the people who settled near Winterville spoke an early Tunican language.

What they do know is that these people were not part of any known tribe today, but that whoever was left of these people eventually did disperse and become part of what would become Choctaw, Tunica, and other Native American tribes.

Many of the people at Winterville disappeared because of European disease and violence, but where the remainder went is unknown. According to Howell, in spite of the fertile nature of the Delta, people never returned to the site once they left.

Site director Mark Howell, left, and archeologist Mark Dingeldein look forward to a museum large enough to properly showcase the site’s importance.

Perhaps clues lie in the many layers of dirt on Winterville’s 42 acres. Perhaps historians will never know exactly what civilization held what kind of ceremonies or traded at the site in 1,000 A.D., and then abandoned it. A slew of researchers, including Howell and Dingeldein, are painstakingly putting pieces together, trying to paint a picture of what once was.

But not all research on the site is purely dig-in-the-dirt archeological.

An archaeoastronomer, William Romain, looked at the site from a cosmic perspective and discovered that key mounds line up perfectly with the moon when it reaches a major lunar standstill. (Lunar standstills occur every 18.6 years, when the range of the declination of the moon reaches a maximum. As a result, at high latitudes, the moon’s greatest altitude changes in just two weeks from high in the sky to low over the horizon.) The three largest mounds sit in line, marching directly toward the moon every 18 or so years, when it dips down to its southernmost point.

On this map in the museum, black dots prepresents mound groups and thelarge black mounds represent temple mounds and ceremonial centers.

Was this harmony between the mounds and the moon planned? Why? And what does it mean?

Like so many puzzles at Winterville, it remains a mystery.

By Zoe McDonald. Photography by Chi Kalu.

LEFT TO RIGHT: Ariel Cobbert, Mrudvi Bakshi, Taylor Bennett, Lana Ferguson, SECOND ROW: Tori Olker, Josie Slaughter, Kate Harris, Zoe McDonald, Anna McCollum, THIRD ROW: Bill Rose, Chi Kalu, Slade Rand, Mitchell Dowden, Will Crockett. Not pictured: Tori Hosey PHOTO BY THOMAS GRANING

The Meek School faculty and students published “Unconquered and Unconquerable” online on August 19, 2016, to tell stories of the people and culture of the Chickasaw. The publication is the result of Bill Rose’s depth reporting class taught in the spring. Emily Bowen-Moore, Instructor of Media Design, designed the magazine.

“The reason we did this was because we discovered that many of them had no clue about the rich Indian history of Mississippi,” said Rose. “It was an eye-opening experience for the students. They found out a lot of stuff that Mississippians will be surprised about.”

Print copies are available October 2016.

For questions or comments, email us at hottytoddynews@gmail.com.

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The post Unconquered And Unconquerable: The Mystery Of Winterville Mounds appeared first on HottyToddy.com.

[im-a-wonderling]

A Union of Obligation

I wasn’t actually planning on writing a continuation of Sorrows can Swim, but writing inspiration is an unpredictable mistress, and it was already written when @thepenultimateword requested a continuation. More to add to the @fantasci-side-blog I guess 😂

Word count: 3.3k

Sorrows Can Swim masterlist

-

Prince shoved aside his lunch, sliding a paper describing trade routes into the place vacated by the bowl of soup that wasn’t at all warm anymore. 

Trade with Tunica and his own kingdom had always been strained, but managing the routes was crucial for maintaining the peace between the two kingdoms. If it wasn’t crucial, Prince would not have acted as swiftly as he did to avoid Princess’s name falling into scandal. If the Tunican king found out that his daughter had consorted with a lowly soldier from Prince’s kingdom, the repercussions would’ve been catastrophic for both lands. Prince hoped his new marriage would go beyond simply saving face, solidifying the bond and giving way to beneficence for all. 

He’d already seen the beginnings of that hope’s fruition. 

Reports of celebrations throughout both kingdoms had reached him, and there were rumors circulating the court that this union marked the beginning of a golden age. 

Well, at least his marriage was good for something.

He rubbed his forehead. If a golden age was in the future, why had the requirements of his position doubled?

Sure, before the wedding, he’d spent nearly every day dealing with some odd commission. But in the fortnight since the wedding, the only day he’d had off was the day immediately following his wedding. 

To all outsiders, it was easy to assume those hours had been spent intimately getting to know his new wife. In reality, he’d spent them pretending to work in their sitting room while listening to Princess’s bilious sounds coming from their bathroom.

Clearly Princess didn’t drink liquor all that often, a fact that both relieved and worried Prince. He didn’t want an alcoholic for a wife, but if she drank far beyond her limits because of marrying him… 

Prince sat back in his chair, giving up on the trade routes. He let out a deep breath and allowed his eyes to fall shut. The expectations that came with being royalty were always exhausting, but he’d been freer. Before, he could go for a horse ride, eat alone, sleep alone, and go gallivanting through the city to his heart’s content.

Now, he was a married man. 

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Prince called, wearily rubbing his eyes.

“Your Highness.”

Prince glanced over at the man who came in and, at first glance, nothing seemed amiss. But then Prince noticed the mud decorating the man’s shoes. The servants, occupied with the cleanliness of the castle, should’ve made him change footwear or at least go barefoot rather than track mud over the expensive carpet. Then, he saw the piece of paper clenched in the scout’s hand, for the man could be nothing else.

Prince sat up straight, holding out his hand for the paper. “What is it?”

“I’ve come from the watchtower.” The scout handed the page to Prince, who quickly opened it, taking in the information. “We spotted a company of soldiers marching through the forest, all bearing the Tunica coat of arms.”

“What did they say when they stated their purpose?”

“Your Highness, they…didn’t stop to do so.”

Prince only just managed to keep his thoughts from leaping from his mouth. There shouldn’t be a company across the border at all, and if they hadn’t stopped to talk of their intent…

The scout shifted, likely uncomfortable being in the room with Prince with such a tense silence. 

The scout had done his job, Prince reminded himself. The information was known, and now actions could be made because of this warning. “Thank you. Please, go down to the kitchens for refreshment before you leave the castle.”

The scout bowed and retreated. 

Prince gave him the count of ten before storming out of the room and down the hallway, the report clenched tightly in his hand. 

One thing he’d learned about his wife since their wedding was how much Princess loved to sleep in. Prince could be dressed, fed, and already halfway through his tasks for the day when Princess stumbled out of the bedchamber and into the sitting room. 

If one wanted to paint an angel waking from sleep, Prince knew exactly what it would look like, for Princess never looked quite so divine as she did when her countenance was weighed down with sleepiness…and it was her ethereality that tugged at Prince’s heartstrings like nothing else. She would yawn and lift her arms up towards the sky, her eyes falling shut as she stretched. Then, one hand would drop to trace a path down her face while the other ran through her slightly disheveled hair. 

Prince shook his head. 

Considering the sun’s position, she would certainly be awake by now, which was good, because he needed her. 

…for affairs.

…of state. 

Prince rounded the corner, opening the door of their suite, expecting Princess to be amusing herself with sewing or reading. 

But the sitting room was empty. 

He glanced out the window. The sun was high in the sky. Could she possibly still be in bed? 

Shaking his head, he reached for the polished doorknob of their bedchamber. He almost pushed it open, ready to catch sight of her, when he heard the sound of giggling. 

His fingers froze, his ears strained. 

More giggling. 

It’s probably one of Princess’s lady’s maids, he told himself, the hand holding the forgotten paper limp at his side. They were a giggly bunch, and if Princess had just woken, they’d be helping her dress anyway. 

But there was a pit in his stomach and a lump in his throat as a preternatural sense of dread seized control of him. He clenched the doorknob, praying he was wrong. It was a prince’s job to be prepared for the worst possible scenario. Paranoia was a useful skill when one couldn’t make any mistakes. That’s all this was. It was his paranoia making him think the worst of the situation. 

Then his ears caught the unmistakable sound of a moan. 

His grip tightened in time with his heart, and he flung the door open. 

Princess and Guard leapt away from each other, looking at him with shock, which quickly morphed into guilt as details bombarded Prince’s brain.

A padded vest, resting a foot from Prince’s feet.

The way both of their chests heaved. 

A woven tunic discarded on the armchair.

Princess’s curls, dislodged from their normally careful hairstyle.

Guard’s bare torso.

The partially undone laces of Princess’s dress. 

All semblance of composure slipped from Prince’s grasp, and his fist clenched, reducing the report into a ball of paper. 

Guard and Princess didn’t move. They both just stared at him, frozen pillars of uncertainty.

Then Princess began to wring her hands together, lowering her eyes to the floor with pink cheeks. Guard, however, continued looking at Prince straight on, directly contrary to the disparity between their stations.

Somewhere, a tea kettle must’ve been boiling, because Prince’s ears filled with shrill whistling. 

One breath.

Two breaths.

Three breaths. 

“I believe you’re supposed to be on duty elsewhere,” Prince calmly told Guard.

Guard walked slowly towards the door, bending to pick up his vest.

“Don’t forget your–” Princess began, reaching for the tunic on the patterned armchair, but Prince was already there.

“Yes,” he said slowly before turning to face Guard, “you can hardly return to your post half-dressed.” He held out the garment.

Guard flicked his eyes towards Princess. Prince nearly turned around, aching to see what expression lay within the devastating beauty of Princess’s face, but he steeled his resolve. Guard inched closer, gingerly taking the tunic from Prince’s outstretched hand. In the split-second before Guard turned away, his eyes met Prince’s. 

Prince was transported back to their private conversation in the library, and judging by the look on Guard’s face, Guard was reliving it as well. Prince couldn’t decide if he wanted to hit Guard now more than he’d wanted to then. 

Despite the conclusion of their conversation, whatever he saw in Prince’s expression made Guard pale, his first sign of discomfort, and he quickly left the room, leaving the door open.

Prince faced Princess. 

Her red cheeks suggested a modicum of shame.

Prince just stared at her, forgetting what he’d come here to do and the threat that was marching closer to the castle. All his strength went into taming the tornado of thoughts and feelings within him. Once the roar inside finally dulled, he opened his mouth, fully intending to ask her to compose herself and accompany him to the councilroom.

Then he made the mistake of looking at her lips. 

Her normally perfectly pink and plump lips were angry red. 

Swollen.

From Guard, the man who respected her so little that he never tried to do the right thing by her. He hadn’t even stepped up to do the right thing when Prince threatened him. 

Princess’d let such a man kiss her.

Red-hot anger boiled underneath his skin, tearing apart every natural connection that held his body together until all that held Prince together was rage. It frothed inside him, multiplying every negative feeling tenfold. 

But even as the ugly feelings spumed, he couldn’t bring himself to allow them to erupt, not at her. Even if she deserved it and perhaps even expected it. 

Without a word, he turned away, leaving the suite as fast as his legs could carry him.

He would solve the issue with Tunica without her. 

-

Prince didn’t go back to their bedchamber. Even when the sun set and the rest of the castle had gone to sleep, he remained in his study, pacing back and forth, alone save for the candles that were steadily burning shorter and shorter. 

He’d sent a message to his father-in-law, inquiring as to the intent of the company of soldiers currently headed towards his castle. Their numbers weren’t great enough to be of any threat, but their presence indicated something more sinister. As it was, he’d prepared the defenses of the castle, just in case. 

Now the only thing he could do was wait, either for a response or for the arrival of the soldiers. 

Which he could technically do from his bed. 

But how could he go back? How could he lay beside Princess, in between the sheets, when she so clearly didn’t want him? 

The thoughts whirled around and around, picking up speed as the hours passed by. 

How soon after the wedding had Princess resumed her tryst with Guard? How many times had Prince laid in that bed not knowing that he was only the second man to slide between the sheets that day? 

His patience slipped, and he slammed his fist down on the desk, breathing hard. 

Prince thought he’d had burdens, but this extraordinary affection he carried for a woman who barely looked at him before she was to marry him? It weighed him down, changing him from an unhampered bachelor to a lovesick fool. 

He would do well to not think of her, but he wasn’t convinced there would ever be a day when he didn’t.

Behind him, he heard the whisper of the door opening. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Only two people possessed the rank to come into his study without knocking first, and he knew his father had no reason to come in this late. 

“Can I help you?” he asked cooly, leaning forward to pluck some arbitrary scroll from his desk. He opened it, his eyes not taking in the meaning of any of the words as he waited.

The only thing Prince could hear was his own breathing, his own heartbeat, as if she wasn’t here at all, simply hiding somewhere within him. 

“You haven’t come to bed.” Her timid voice spoke of reluctant, but clear worry. 

As it should, he furiously thought. She was a married member of royalty fooling around with a man other than her husband, someone of lower rank. And she hadn’t even locked the door. 

She didn’t ask a question, the slight lilt of her comment the only indication that she wanted him to speak. 

Well, he wouldn’t. 

She’d stolen his own heart away from him; he wasn’t about to let her steal his silence too.

“Are you…coming to bed tonight?”

Prince couldn’t decipher her tone without seeing her face, and he couldn’t see her face without picturing those swollen lips.

What did she want from him? Yes, they slept in the same bed, but with their backs to each other and without speaking. She couldn’t possibly think he’d missed the way she placed a wall pillows in between their bodies every night.

“Prince–”

“If you’re lonely,” he said before he could stop himself, “I imagine Guard will gladly keep you company.” 

So much for her not stealing his silence. 

There was no reply. Prince replayed the comment in his head, realizing how harsh it was. Guilt infested his insides, twisting and turning around his organs, turning them black from the inside. With a sigh, he turned to face Princess. “Look, I’m–”

She wasn’t wearing a dressing gown over her white sleeping shift. 

He kept his eyes dutifully trained on her face, refusing to let his focus dip down even a centimeter. Nonetheless, he felt his cheeks fill with color. Was he a juvenile? For crying out loud, he’d seen fully bare women before. Why did he get such a thrill just from seeing her uncovered arms and collarbones peeking out from the simple sleeves of her nightgown? 

Princess stepped forward hesitantly. “I don’t want you to be angry.”

He was angry. He was seething, but seeing her face made it…so…hard…

He dropped his gaze, replacing her bare arms and undone hair with the gold designs in the velvet carpet. “I am well aware that you hold no affection for me.” He took a ragged breath. “Ours is a union of obligation, not fondness or…or love.” Heavens, those words maimed him, each one a dagger. 

Clinging to the pain, he used it to bring him fire. He slowly met her eyes. “But marriage…especially a royal marriage…requires fidelity.” 

Princess jutted out her chin. “This marriage wasn’t my idea.”

“That may be so, but you agreed to it.”

“Under duress!” 

“And who’s responsible for your duress?” Prince snapped. “If you’re blaming me for that too, you are not as bright as I thought!”

Princess advanced on him, her eyes alight with vexation. “You have no right–”

“To what?” Prince stepped forward too, refusing to be cowed. “To speak the truth? Guard is the reason you married me, supposedly against your will, and yet I find you in an indecent position with him today! Have you learned nothing?”

“You certainly think tremendously of yourself, to lecture me in this fashion!” 

“Maybe so,” Prince retorted, “but you are far too obstinate to agree to this marriage unless you saw the need for it. If you didn’t, no one could have forced you to make those vows for all the world!”

Princess growled right in his face, the sound filling him with heat. “Yes, there was a need for it. And you are correct, if there wasn’t, I never would’ve married you.”

“Is that so?” Prince replied, feeling his gut whip into a heartbroken frenzy. “Well, whatever reason there was, whether you wanted it or not, there is no way out of this. You are my wife. I am your husband. And if anyone finds you in Guard’s embrace, both of you might lose your heads!”

Prince didn’t realize how close they’d gotten until he could see every aspect of the fear that flashed in Princess’s wide eyes. He cursed himself, because once again his mouth had run ahead of his brain, and now she was scared for her life.

He reached out his hand to touch her shoulder. “You don’t–” he began to say.

Princess peered up at him, moisture gathering in her eyes, giving them a glossy appearance. “Guard could be killed?”

Prince nearly bit his tongue.

Her concern was not for her reputation, for their kingdoms, but for that man. Over and over, she chose Guard over everything else.

“There is no telling what might happen,” he said, unable to muster much volume over the roaring of his heart. Princess lowered her head, looking downcast.  “If you are not careful…I fear the consequences will be steep.”

When she lifted her head, he caught sight of the determined twist of her mouth. “We’ll be more careful.”

Prince balled his fists, trying to stop the hurt. She wasn’t going to stop her relations with Guard, she wasn’t even going to get angry at Guard for his carelessness or demand better of him. She was going to continue on her current path.

He couldn’t stand keeping it from her anymore. He grabbed her hands. “Listen to me. Guard–”

“I know you hate him.”

“No, he–”

Princess lifted her hand to stop his words, her fingers cold against his lips, and every nerve in Prince’s body lit up. She’s touching me, his body sang, she’s touching me. Nothing had ever silenced him so effectively as he waited for Princess to speak.

Her eyes beseeched him, for what, he didn’t know, but he knew he would give her anything and everything she asked for.

“I love him.”

She might as well have gutted him. 

“I love him,” she said again, as if he hadn’t heard her well enough the first time. “He and I, we’ll be better about it, I promise.”

Promise.

Prince made a promise as well—a promise to Guard that he wouldn’t tell Princess of what had been said in their conversation in the library. He’d only made it because he knew the information would crush Princess, and unlike Guard, Prince couldn’t ever do anything that hurt her. 

Princess didn’t understand, and he longed for her to understand. 

But as he looked at her, she seemed so small, with desperation in her eyes and, underneath that, the love she spoke of. Whatever she had with Guard, it meant everything to her. Prince believed that she loved Guard, perhaps as she had never loved anyone before. He wished he didn’t believe it.

He pulled her hand away from his mouth. “Okay,” he managed to say, and the pain was all worth it for the hope that lit up her face. “Be smarter about it.” She nodded, and he stepped away. “Now, please, go back to bed.”

Princess nodded and started towards the door.

Some string linking them grew tight, the attachment point in his chest going tight. “Wait.” Princess turned to look at him. 

Prince quickly undid his laces and pulled his sleeves out of his arms. “Take my doublet. It’s too cold for you to be walking around in just your nightgown.” 

Princess padded forward, allowing him to wrap his jacket around her. He started doing the laces up again, pulling the fabric together to block those lovely collarbones from view. The burden of her attention on him nearly made him crumple to his knees in a vow of fealty, but he focused on his task. 

Far too soon, it was over. 

And yet, Princess didn’t head back for the door. 

She simply remained where she was, looking up at him. He gazed back at her, his eyes trailing the features he already knew by heart. Someday, when he was old and his memory started to fail, he knew he would always be able to describe her perfectly. 

He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. “Goodnight.” 

Quick as he could, he walked back to his desk, taking a seat and pulling out that same scroll, making a great effort to move his eyes from side to side as if he were reading. 

Princess shuffled towards the door. 

Prince could’ve sworn he heard a whispered goodnight, but he couldn’t be sure. 

Either way, she slipped out of his study, and the door clicked shut behind her, leaving the room far emptier than it’d been a moment before.

The string in his chest stretched, pulling him forward, tightening to the point of pain. Instead of following her, Prince slouched back in his chair, the scroll tumbling to the floor.

His eyes fell on the report from earlier, rumpled from when he’d crushed it in his anger earlier.

Even if he didn’t tell her the truth about Guard, he should’ve told her about what was brewing between their kingdoms.

But he feared Princess only cared if one specific man were sent into the skirmish, and it wasn’t him.

-

Part 3

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