Chapter 3: Chapter 2: Fae Princess

“Eck!” Alve squeaked faintly as Urda pulled a length of her lanky bush of black hair from down its roots to the tip. She did not dare to prod the patience of her maid when the morning vexing, the series of, “Where were you?” “What were you doing in the parlor unclothed?” “I did not tell you to go to the High Adjunct nevertheless to even help him.” The end bit promised more racking in the near future. And did Alve hoped, that the last torment was the painful stretch of the metal brush and Urda's cold silence. Urda did not like talking too much and Alve much liked it. Her brother however, who had enjoyed her silent adventures from the past month had lost his entire glow when he had found her. He did not even smile when she hugged him back downstairs.

“You may bring her morning meal Urda, I have something to do.” Arlou stood there behind his struggling sister and maid by the vanity, hands behind his waist while conjuring more thoughts of bravery for the day’s events. His sister’s smile however, reflected by the crusty designed mirror, gave him just that. Answering her toothy grin, he smiled back softly before leaving the princess’ room.

Alve did not porous her prohibition of a bowl of oats and berries, nor her steamy bread and cup of milk. Although the princess had gotten used to the strict diet for her sensitive body, she had behaved too mischievous to have her brother beside her, eating their meals together while talking about their own adventures and discoveries. Urda, whom Alve did not find to have eaten any food since her birth, to whom had she wished to join her, was already preparing her things to go to Mistress Oldotre’s lessons. The fresh morning breeze and birds echoing outside paralleled her cold and hushed chamber.

Under the gossamer of her light weight dress, Urda tried her best to plush the very small and lean body. She would not braid the girl’s hair when it could show her frail bones. Nor tighten her blue dresses to avoid the rash between sweats. Nor even give her the stretch of the great outdoors. The princess was always about the palace, and one day finding her escape to the city was no good at all. Kneeling in front of her, Urda looked between the girl’s only memory of the lost queen, the topaz necklace, then to the hallow shadows of the princess’ face, and finally to her Fae eyes, dark green and wild.

“You're finally set. Now do not go torturing the poor mistress, you have to learn to read how ever you can,” the maid chided.

“But she's mean to me,” the princess pleaded.

“All smart people are mean Alve. Now get going.” She pushed the princess out of the chamber, instructed the guards outside to lead her to her lesson room, and watched and compared the entire realm’s mystics and debauchery, the continuous optimism of a small brave girl against the odds of those who contempt her.

 

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The soft rasp of the door was enough to strum Alve out of her struggle against her tilted version of the Thravbon alphabet. Prolong strokes from the bottom part of the linings, slithering up hill to a twirl and a vicious stroke at the end had its ways to confuse the princess. She tried to hide away her shaky lines of ink by rubbing it down from the parchment when Mistress Oldotre had to answer the door. The mistress’ mutterings of “burdensome fools,” and “bequeathed rights,” about Alve’s guards did bother her. She knew no one was allowed to visit the princess and her lessons, and the empty room of other nobles was a given.

Alve did not try to look behind her when the Mistress Oldotre had yelped in joy. Then whispers of, “You mean to say that I am…”

“That is what he said.”

“But I have…”

“I know…”

“That sow!” Alve flinched, accidentally dragging her quill with its black fluid to the margins of her paper.

“But…” moments later, Alve then heard the muffled crying. The princess had to remain concentrated at another ‘rucs’, trying to ignore her supposed severe teacher.

“I’m going to him!” her Mistress declared.

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“Wait. Like right now? But he’ll…”

“Don’t worry, I know what to do.”

Alve then was both ostracized and confused. Her teacher had seem to have left the room but she still felt the presence of eyes upon her.

“Princess?” said a female voice.

Almost falling off from her chair, Alve had turned to a scholar with a great flowing brown cloak. Her long straight black hair, that was rare to see from all the browns and golden heads, had taken her, intrigued.She must have noticed her silent reaction when the scholar bowed. “Forgive me your royal highness. I am Mistress Clanadrin Tantin Beramontin, a scholar of philosophy and logics at the Pillar-State School of Eth.” The scholar then straightened.

“Philosophy? What is that?” the princess asked her, but Clanadrin did not come here to answer the questions of her major. She calmly stepped into the room towards the lone chair the princess had sat, curiously digesting her acute stature and the charon private room. Clanadrin then turned to the paper at the desk, the clear visage of a struggling student.

“I heard you still cannot read,” she said bluntly, “and write,” she added and smirked. The princess only went blushed silent at it. “But I can help you with that.”

“Really?”

“Of course. But please, you can stay relax with me your highness, I will not bite.”

Although to Alve, the scholar was clearly a stranger but her grin was promising something. She immediately sat when the Mistress had told her to return to her seat. To Alve’s great surprise, the scholar had conjured a thick leathered book from her cloak like eth, outfitted with singular letters.

“You see, when you want to learn something, it must be out of great interest. And I for one learned to read and write when I was read a story,” the scholar’s words confused her thereafter, Alve’s stories were always read to her.

“But why?”

“You’ll know. Are you familiar with the White Owl?” the scholar asked.

“No.”

“That is good news then.” The scholar opened the book and through Alve’s eyes, saw only the same odd letters she had not made acquaintances. Fortunately the scholar was reading her in the familiar Thravbon.

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