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I lower my head, my hands clutching at my skirts, as if they are the only thing rooting me here. "What?" I heard him clearly the first time that he spoke, but something in my mind won't believe his words.

My father sighs, and scrubs a hand across his tired face, as if knowing that I would react this way. "The king of Whales is in search for a bride, and you are of age. Lyra, we need to keep our good bloodlines going, and he is not a bad man to deal with. Also, they have good trade, and good money flow. They could make us a rich Country again."

Of course, I've known since I was small that I would be set into an arranged marriage one day, but I cannot help but be baffled at the king's selection for my husband. I always thought that one day I would meet a handsome young prince that I was to marry, and that we would ride off into the sunset together. At least, that's what my mother told me when I was a child.

The King of Whales is well into his forties, and I've just turned eighteen a month ago. I've also heard many a rumor of what became of the King on Whales' five previous wives. No grown man should ask his daughter to do this, though I know it happens all the time, I never thought that I would have to be one of them. Not for that king. "But father, I-"

The king cuts me off with the slam of his palm on the polished mahogany of the dinner table. "No buts, Lyra. Our kingdom is..." He sighs. "We need help, or we are going to fail and our people will starve."

"Our people are starving. I am not sure if you have noticed. I am having trouble seeing how marrying an old man will change that." I grit out through my teeth, clenching my fists under the table. He ignores this, and cuts himself a piece of meat slowly, waiting for my answer, though I know well that he will give me no choice but to agree with him.

My mother looks up, silently pleading with me, her eyes shining with unshaped tears. She doesn't want me to fight with him, nor does she want me to have to do this. Her dark brown hair, the same as mine, frames her beautiful face when it falls near her sharp cheeks as she lowers her eyes, picking up her drink with shaky hands. I avoid her gaze and look down at the untouched lamb on the plate in front of me. "I... No. I won't." I say firmly, looking slowly up at my father, defiance settling deep in my bones. "I refuse to marry the king of Whales."

He picks up his silver cup and takes a long drink of his wine, as if preparing himself for something. He sets it back down and looks at me, smoothing his dark, graying mustache. He glances at my mother, who had started to silently cry. She is a quiet woman, and would never speak out against my father, as they were met in the same way. An arranged marriage. My father also doesn't like when his pets speak out of turn. I've always assumed that he found me to be distastful, for that very reason. I've always been too much for him to handle. A princess should be sweet, delicate and polite. A princess should never speak without permission, or challenge the authority of a man. I've been doing all of these things since I was a child. I act more like a young prince, than the dainty princess that I am. The king has always frowned upon me for that.

"Lyra, I do not want to do this, but if you do not heed my wishes, then I will be forced to..."

My mother looks at me as my father continues, and I can see in her eyes that she knew that I would rather face his punishment than be forced into the same thing that she was, though she had been arranged to the prince at the time, she hadn't loved him. I am still not sure if she does. I suspect that my father hasn't changed since he was young, he is still stubborn, hard, and unkind. It would be a miracle to love someone like that.

"I will be forced to disown you. You will be banished from this kingdom." He says, with nearly no remorse of doing so. I raise my chin to meet his dark eyes, showing no weakness. I've never let the king see my tears, so I will certainly not start now.

I take my napkin off of my lap, set it next to my glass and push my chair back, eyes glaring into my father's. "Excuse me." I say curtly, and before he can object, I walk away from the table, my shoes clicking against the marble floor. He knows what my answer will be, despite his threats.

I decide that if I am going to be banished for denying this marriage, than I may as well leave before the king has the chance to, since I would be such a disgrace to him anyhow. It might make him feel better to know that I had just gone anyway, save him the embarrassment. Perhaps he will just tell everyone that I never existed, that I was merely a figment of their imaginations. This life is good as a princess, I won't deny it, but like I said, our people are starving, our king is one step shy of being a donkey's ass, and our kingdom is falling apart. I could do much more good elsewhere, I think.

As soon as I am out of sight, I start running, as quickly as the strangling corset around my waist will permit. I run through the corridor, through the hallways and up the marble steps, passing startled maids, servants and Guards. I stop in front of my father's room, and wait until it is deserted before opening his door. I slip inside and shut the heavy door softly behind me, the Guards tipping their heads at me on my way. I've often done this, so it does not come across as terribly suspicious that I would enter the chambers of my parents.

This room is as it could be imagined, the same as any other king's chamber: loud and horribly obnoxious. There is a large four poster bed, perfectly made up with red sheets, wide windows draped over with heavy red satin curtains, with a large wardrobe pressed against the far wall. The room is filled with expensive furs and jewels that no servant would be daft enough to touch, and the hearth of the fire place is decorated with gems and gold. This, is the true reason as to why our subjects are starving in their quaint little shacks. The king is a greedy man, belly bursting with rich and decadent food, back clothed with the deep colors of purples and reds. Meanwhile, his people, whom I enjoy speaking with daily and know by name, are breaking their backs for a loaf of bread. Luckily the Queen, love her heart, had set it up before I was even born, that the families who live in our kingdom will be fed at least enough for three days, which usually lasts the poorest citizens a week. At this rate, though, I'm assuming the King has no knowledge of this. He's not known for the kindness of his heart, but I suppose that it is true, that a King is not much of a king without subjects to rule. Even the cruelest man will throw his dog scraps, lest they be no good for hunting.

I go to the wardrobe, which is as tall as two men and eight times as wide, and open the doors. I am met by hundreds of luxurious robes and shirts and rows of locked drawers of other expensive items. I rustle around until I find a loose, white men's shirt that I find may fit me better than anything else I had found. I hold it up briefly, glancing in the looking glass next to to wardrobe. It is large on my small frame, but my father is a rather fleshy man, and I prefer to spend my time out riding or socializing than being a glutton. I pull it away and fold it, then tuck it under my skirts, squeezing it beneath my corset enough so it will not drag, to conceal it until I get to my chambers. I've often come to my parent's chambers, yes, but rarely do I leave with anything. If I do, I always keep it hidden from the Guardsmen's views, as they are to report it back to my father.

I exit just as I entered, waiting until there is no one in the lonely hallway but me and the two Guards, and rush off to my bedroom, the men bowing in my wake. I am much less familiar with my father's Guards than my own, so I shoot them a tight lipped smile, and carry on.

I wait in my chambers until my mother comes to knock on my door in her gentle way, asking if I am awake. She probably wants to speak with me, and maybe I should let her, but I make no sound signaling that I may be wanting to. I stand outside of the inner chamber door, leaning my forehead against the rough wood. What am I to say? I'm sorry, but I refuse be betrothed to a man who will poison me for your money? Perhaps I could say that, but before I can make a decision, her foot steps are tapping back down the hallway. Can I really leave her, without even saying goodbye? I shove the thought aside and push away, trying to find a solid, defining thought to cling to through the sea of doubt that floods my mind.

The Guard changes outside of my outer door, and I recognize the sound of my favorite man's laugh as he converses with the other Guardsmen. The Captain of my Guard has always been my most prized and loyal, and I have to shove away more thoughts of compromise before my mind changes. I will not suffer at the hands of the king of Whales as the other Queens had. I can help no one if I am dead.

I delay any further action until a hand maid comes to help me to dress for bed, as corsets are really quite troublesome to unlace by yourself. Once she's left, I busy myself by gathering supplies and scrubbing my face clean of makeup while waiting for night to fall heavily, all the while trying to ignore the painful twists of nervousness and indecision in my stomach. I wait a bit longer after the stars appear, until I am sure most of the castle is asleep before I get to work.

I rummage around my spacious wardrobe, not at all unlike the King's, until I find what I am looking for: the trousers that I own that are split down the middle like what a man would wear, and the tall, knee high boots that I keep for riding. I strip myself of the fresh satin nightgown, and proceed to pull on the trousers. I then take a long strip of bandage from one of my wardrobe drawers, and hold one end while wrapping it around my chest, tight enough to throb painfully. Once it is secured with a knot, I then pull on my father's shirt, lacing up the collar so it is tight enough so no one can see down the front of it, and loosely tuck it into my drawers. The black leather of my boots is soft and well worn as I slip the familiar footwear on, sitting on a decorated stool for assistance. I go to my bed, and run a hand longingly over the soft sheets. I wish I could just stay here and be safe. I kneel, and reach underneath, until my hand bumps a solid object. I grab it firmly, and pull it towards me and into the firelight.

I hold a brilliantly crafted sword, light enough for my strength and sharp enough to pierce leather. This, was one of the few truly good things to come from my father. The weapon was not a gift from him, no, but he allowed me to keep it when it was given to me. He allowed me to be trained to use a sword as skillfully as my guardsmen, though nearly no one knows of my capabilities. A princess should not know how to defend herself, and she should never look towards a weapon with the intent to touch it, lest she cut herself on the sharp blade. My sword gleams in the light cast upon it's blade, as I lift it slightly out of it's thick leather sheath.

I push to my feet and secure the weapon around my waist, tying it securely to the belt of the trousers. I cross the room to my vanity, and look in the mirror, looking myself over. It will certainly require some getting used to. A frown meets my lips, a I raise a hand up to touch my hair. It needs to go if I am going to make a successful disguise. I regretfully remove the pins from my long brown locks, watching as it coils down my back to my waist in waves that shimmer in the light of the flames. My hair has always been beautiful, and it has never been touched by the harsh steel of a blade or shears. I've never been one for much vanity, but I do admire my hair. I stare at the reflection of the dark chocolate tousled extensions, before I reach up to gather all of it over one shoulder.

I quietly draw the blade from it's sheath, the silver metal shining with a harsh and deadly sort of beauty. I sigh, and bite my lip against the rolling twist in my gut, slowly raising it to the gathered hair. I close my eyes tightly, as if it will help, and I hold my breath. With much more effort than I expected, I saw the hair off just above my shoulders. After a few snags and painful tugs at my scalp, the last bit of unevenly cut hair falls to my feet. I stare at it a moment, breathing out the air that I trapped in my lungs.

When I find the courage to look in the mirror again, a soft faced boy looks back at me. I am startled by the change, and breathe out a shaky breath. Though the hazel eyes and full lips are the same, my cheekbones seem to be less noticeable with the shoulder length hair. I take a moment to look myself over again, making sure that the shirt is loose enough to hide my chest, and that my expressions don't seem to feminine.

I sheath my sword again at my side, and return to my wardrobe, searching for something useful. I find a small strap of leather in one of the drawers, and tie the two ends into a knot. I have seen many men with longer hair tie it back at the nape of their neck to keep it out of their way, as many of my Guard do this, and I copy the hairstyle, thinking that it might make me blend in more. I know that I should have cut it much shorter, but I can't bring myself to saw off anymore of my once lovely locks. Perhaps if I can get far enough away from here, I will no longer have to hide that I am a woman, and can grow my hair back out longer again. With this hope in mind, I wrap the leather strip around the stub of hair at my neck, then turn my face from side to side in the looking glass. That looks a little more convincing. In this realm, creating a glamor isn't impossible, but is hard to do. My bloodlines help immensely with my abilities, though, as my mother is the same way. We have an easier time bending people to our will and convincing others of things, even if they are untrue. Hopefully, convincing everyone around me that I am a boy will be as easy as the other things.

A silver locket catches the firelight and glints at my chest, drawing my attention. I reach to touch the necklace, reminded of my mother. This was hers, as a child, and her mother's before that. It has been in the family for as long as I can tell, and now it has to go. I sigh, and regretfully unclasp the chain from around my neck. I hold it up, studying the pretty little object for a moment, deciding what to do with it. I know that I should leave it, but emotion overrides rationalization, and I drop the precious locket into the pocket of my breaches. I then bend to scoop up all of my hacked hair, and go toss it into the fire. I watch ruefully as the long tendrils are quickly consumed by the flames, forever destroyed.

Shaking my head at the tragedy, I force myself away from the fireplace and walk back to my bed, retrieving a sack of coins from my bedside dresser. I weigh the silver in my hand thoughtfully. This should be enough to purchase whatever I will need, for a while, anyway. It may even be enough to get me far enough away to start a new life, unscathed by royal blood lines and greed. I tuck the satin bag into the pocket of my breaches, as well, my fingers brushing the metal chain of the locket.

More regret tangles into knots of snakes in my belly, and I feel sickness roll through me. Maybe I should just wait, and try to make a compromise with father. Perhaps I should just face the fate that awaits me here. I should wait for another night, when I feel better... No. I know what I have to do. I refuse to let the better, smarter part of me talk the other half out of it. I know that if I do not do this now, that I will never do it. This is for me and my safety, and I mustn't think of anyone else or their reactions to my leaving. With a new confidence, I lean over the soft mattress, and pull until the sheets come off of it.

I go to my window with the fabric in hand, and push the glass open. I know that no Guards are posted down below, as the ground Guard's shift does not start for another hour or so. They would currently be in the mess hall, eating their late meal and preparing for their nightly duty. I secure the knots that I had tied in between sheets and blankets, and throw the finished product out into the night. I go back and crouch at one of the legs of the bed, where my thrifty escape rope is tied, and pull it tightly to make sure it won't come undone mid-climb.

The length of the knotted material reaches down to a few feet off of the ground, and I peer down at the bottom of it as it sways slightly in the breeze. With a final, deep breath for confidence, I lower myself out of the window, and start my slow descent to the ground. After much self-coaxing and mental soothing, I finally reach the end of the linens. I look down at the dust below, and I take another deep breath, preparing myself for the final jump down. I count to three, and let go.

When my feet hit the dirt, I land cleanly, using my hands to steady my weight on my ankles. I hadn't sounded as quietly as hoped, but I hear no one approach to check on the noise. I push myself up from the ground, and crane my neck back, closing my eyes as I sigh in relief. I pause to look up at the stars above me, taking a deep breath, now knowing that I can breathe easier. The air smells like crisp freedom, and I know that it is close enough for me to finally reach. I whisper a prayer of thanks to God above, and start off at a sprint in the direction opposite of the castle wall.

I am finally free.

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Author's Note:

This chapter has been roughly edited. Feel free to point out any spelling and grammatical errors, and I will get to fixing them.

All my love and gratitude,

-A.