Sana

 “The Southern Kingdom has fallen.”

  The heavy words dropped straight into the pit of her stomach, crashing and churning in tempestuous waves along with the bile that was threatening to rise up . The fragile porcelain cup almost slipped from her grip but trembling fingers tightened before it could, setting it unsteadily on the sturdy table instead.

  She looked out to the gardens, eyes sweeping the vast expanse of the landscape and the impenetrable wall on the outer perimeter. She’d cursed it’s very existence as a child, sought many ways to escape the grounds without the notice of her father or the guards - sometimes she’d drag Mina with her, end up getting both of the girls in trouble and the cold shoulder from her younger sister for a few days. The memories made her smile, if only a slight quirk of the lips, and she sent a silent prayer to whichever gifted architect made the structure so impenetrable centuries before she had even been born.

  “What of the Royal family?” She responds after a few taut moments of silence, punctuated only by the calls of the birds and the rustle of the wind playing in the branches of the fruit tree next to them. Her father doesn’t respond immediately, and she steels her stomach for the inevitable news he was about to deliver.

  “Gone.” He rumbles heavily, as if that single word took more of a toll on him than all of his years as King. Maybe it did, Sana laments, as she turns her head to look at her father and sees him looking beyond the wall pensively, with an age-old weariness set in the defined lines of his face. He looks older than she’s ever seen him look before, playing absently with the loose, worn silver ring around his forefinger.

  Whenever she had asked where he had gotten it from, he would smile fondly; remembering days long since passed and summers spent laughing with old friends when their faces weren’t marred by age and responsibility, pulling young Sana closer into a warm embrace and gently combat calloused fingers through the strands of her hair. He would say it was a gift, a promise between a group of young boys to always remember themselves and each other.

  His movements become harsher, more erratic as he twists the ring around his finger again and again until he lets go, resting a shaking hand on the arm of his chair and leaning forward to reach for his half-empty cup. Sana realises she finally has a definitive answer to her question in the hard set jut of her father’s jaw, the barely restrained fury in his eyes as he bought the rim of the cup to his lips.

  “What of the princess?” She asked desperately, holding onto the last vestiges of distressed hope. She thinks of the tanned, beautiful face of the young girl, the bright gleam of her teeth as her face would split into a wide, unrestrained grin at whatever silly joke Sana had prepared for her, or the soft, attentive warmth in her eyes when she listened to Mina recite the poem she had most taken a fancy to recently. She thinks of a summer spent in the Southern palace where the hallways echoed with high-pitched childish giggles, and she ran through the dew soaked gardens with Tzuyu and Mina close behind her, wearing only their nightgowns and their socks much to the chagrin of the palace maids desperately trying to chase them down.

  A rough, weather worn hand lays itself on top of her own, engulfing her hand and grasping at her fingers to tug them into the palm of his own. He doesn’t answer, just the soft skin on the back of her hand with a rugged, calloused thumb, and she swallows down the thick wave of nausea that crashed back into her stomach with a renewed vigor.

     “War is coming.” His voice is low, a profound rumble from somewhere deep in his chest and Sana shudders at the words, instinctively moves closer into the warmth of his embrace. The chair scrapes as he stands, positioning himself in front of his eldest daughter and sinking to his knees on the old, cobbled stone of the conservatory. He looks up at her, face contorted with the effort to keep the tears out of his eyes and Sana feels her own vision clouding as he takes both of her hands in a soft, pleading grip.

  “Sana, my love, my sunshine.” He croaks, throat closing as he chokes around syllables too hard to pronounce, words too difficult to say. There’s a wetness trailing on the surface of her cheeks, and she finally finds the strength to look into his eyes.

  “The Northern Kingdom have offered us an alliance.” He states, thumbs sweeping a soothing arc on the backs of her hands. His head falters, staring at the cold, stone floor instead of his daughter. “I know I told you I’d never force you into anything, that I’d never make you or Mina do anything you didn’t want to as long as I was King.”

  Sana’s stomach sinks even lower, embedded deep in the very stone of the floor as she watches the strong, stoic man in front of her crumble and fall apart at her feet.

  “A marriage.” He whispers, dropping one of Sana’s hands to wipe at the tears threatening to fall. “They’ve offered an alliance if one of my daughters will marry the eldest prince.”

  Her entire life, both her mother and father encouraged both of their daughters to find love in their own time. She was lucky, incredibly so - she knew of the arranged marriages of noble families, knew the loveless relationships they found themselves in and the despairing tears in her friends eyes as she watched them slowly dwindle away to live with their betrothed by no choice of their own.

  “ One of your daughters?” She whispers back, thinks of her younger sister who is likely tucked away in the library thumbing slowly through the works of some renowned poet Sana had never even heard of. Her father nods slowly, and Sana’s heart sinks at the thought of Mina being sent away to a foreign country to live the rest of her life as some faceless prince’s wife.

  “I knew you’d never forgive me if I asked Mina first,” her father begins, a humourless chuckle slipping into the painful silence surrounding them both.

  “You’re right,” she laughs back, sliding out of her own chair to kneel on the floor in front of her father. The stone is cold, sending a chill straight into her knees as she sinks down to the floor to be eye-level with him. “I would never forgive you if you’d have asked her first.”

  Mina was kind, selfless. She was the picture perfect poised princess that any king could have only dream of having, demure and quiet and more importantly, well-loved by the people. The Eastern Kingdom adored their youngest princess, as much as they did the eldest princess but Sana had always been aware of the fact that there was something just a little more… regal, and refined about the younger girl.

  She fit the mold perfectly. Sana was also aware that she would throw her well being away in a moment for the sake of her family and her kingdom, spurred by the blessed sort of naivety that still clung to her adolescent mind.

  “Don’t tell her.” She demands, voice stern and firm as she reaches to grasp her father’s hands in her own. There are dried tear tracks on her face, their presence long since gone and she tilts her head to wipe them away with the sleeve of her dress. The maids would sigh exasperatedly when they catch sight of Sana, pristine white dress crumpled from her time sat on the floor and coated in a layer of dust and dirt, and she treasures the fleeting feeling of amusement that ran through her mind at the thought of the head maid's face.

  She’d have to start treasuring every memory of this place, she accepts with a weighted sigh, staring into the eyes of the king and the man who had raised her.

  “Don’t tell her.” She repeats, voice steady and unwavering as she raises a hand to cup his cheek. Tears are spilling freely down his face , features beginning to crumple as his lip quivers with the effort to not cry out.

  “Don’t even give her the choice. I’ll do it.” She signs the letter of her own demise, giving her life away to a nameless prince in a kingdom she knew little about.

  She feels strong arms pull her into his chest, soft cries of her name and whispered ‘I love you’s spilling over trembling lips like an unrelenting wave. Rough, calloused fingers cup the back of her head desperately, running through the strands of her hair as her father echoes a mantra of apologies over and over, and she slowly closes her eyes and presses against the warm expanse of his chest as she finally lets the unshed tears fall.

  She inhales deeply, hands fisted tightly in the lapel of his shirt as she takes in his scent, the smell of home and everything she had cherished and loved for the past nineteen years of her life. She thinks of Mina, and mother, and all of the people in the castle whose fates depended upon her.

  It was an easy choice to make, but her heart is heavy - and she cries. In that moment, scrabbling distraughtly at the material of her father’s robes as he engulfs her in his embrace and she chokes on the fear crawling up , she looks out to the garden and the rolling landscape of her kingdom beyond the wall.

  And she cries.

Jihyo

  Her footsteps echo as she hurries through the corridor, steel-capped boots clacking rhythmically against the wooden floor with every lengthy stride she takes. The sun has barely broken over the horizon, muted rays peeking through the gaps in the shutters of the unopened windows and casting distorted shadows against the oak panelling of the walls as she moved with haste. Her hand rested easily on the hilt of the sword at her waist, a habit drilled into her from years of training and one that she appreciated greatly as she walks, taking a familiar sort of comfort from the intimate grooves of the pommel as it hit against her palm with every step.

  She stands outside the ornate door of the princesses bedroom, knows she won't be awake at this hour of the early morning and forgoes knocking as a formality. Gripping the handle, she shoves a sturdy shoulder against the thick wood and it creaks open, a loud crack of noise in the silence of dawn and she hears a muted yell of fright from inside.

  “Who goes there?” Demanded the fearful voice, and despite the heavy news she came bearing Jihyo finds herself smiling in spite of it.

  “Fear not, noble princess,” she grins roguishly, stepping into the darkness of the room confidently and ignoring the disgruntled girl staring at her incredulously from her bed, “it’s only me.”

  She stops in front of the heavy curtains, yanks the material open and allows the growing sunlight to spill into the room. She hears a pained hiss from behind her, turning around to rest her eyes on the princess burrowing herself under the thick confines of her duvet to avoid the light.

  “What in the ever loving are you doing in here?” She hears, words muted by the restraint of the duvet but she could distinguish the irritation in her tone. She doesn’t bother to stifle the roll of her eyes, watches the way the lump on the bed moves lazily as her boots click against the floor with each step she takes closer.

  “Language, princess.” She chastises, tearing the duvet off of the other girl and grinning at the shrill shriek the action produced. Formality and royal procedure isn’t a thing that exists between them, considering Jihyo had basically been raised alongside the girl swatting at her arm with childish, lazy swipes. “You know what your father would say if he overheard such foul, coarse language spill from your mouth.”

  Nayeon huffs, rolls her eyes perfectly and sneers at Jihyo in response.

  “Father isn’t here and you shouldn’t be either.” She retorts, throwing herself back onto her mattress and trying to bury herself deep within it. She sighs heavily, all of the fight and frustration leaving her body in one, heavy breath.

  “I suppose you have something important to tell me?” She huffs again, turning her head to peer over her shoulder at the younger girl watching her bemusedly. “If not, I swear to all that is holy-”

  She halts mid-sentence, noticing the solemn expression that had overtaken Jihyo’s face. She falters; mouth hanging open, speechless as the other girl perches on the edge of her mattress, leaning towards her at the dip of weight.

  “The Southern Kingdom has fallen.” Jihyo begins, palm resting on Nayeon’s knee. Whether it was to reassure the older girl or give herself some stability, she wasn’t sure, and she starts to run her hand along her knee soothingly. Nayeon gasps, loud and authentic as she brings both hands to cover .

  “War is coming.” She announces, face overcome with reluctant acceptance as a plethora of confusion and fear plays out on the older girls’ features.

  “Will there be an alliance with the East?” Nayeon asks, taking the little information she’d been given and churning it over in her head. Jihyo raised her brows at the correct assumption, though she shouldn’t have been surprised.

  Nayeon was bright, far brighter than anyone else in the castle gave her credit for. Her mind was built for war strategy and political maneuvers, every decision calculated and sharp and Jihyo so desperately wished that the king would make use of her talents one day.

  Instead Nayeon hid behind a sheer veneer of vanity and arrogance, a flawless mask worn everyday in front of the king to fool him into think she was a conceited and superficial princess - no more, no less. If she were given the opportunity; Nayeon would make a fine ruler, far better than her father who, despite his good intentions, was often blindsided by his incessant need to gain power.

  They would also have to learn to reign in her temper, and perhaps control her crass language, but other than that Jihyo had full faith in her long-term friend.

  “There will be,” Jih