Page 10 of Falling Princess

What he said instead was, “You shall follow a curriculum of political science and comparative religion.”

This is too much. I hate both disciplines. I want to study science. Botany. Biology. Chemistry. Engineering. Environmental science. Mathematics. Those subjects are where my interests and talents lie. I want to document Auralia’s flora and fauna and develop our medicinal plants into pharmaceuticals. The world would benefit from improved health and Auralia’s coffers would fill with badly-needed money to support infrastructure and, yes, defense.

Politics and religion areuselessfor anything other than starting fights. Astronomy would be better thanpolitical fucking scienceandreligion.At least I could use it to sail away from this island once and for all.

I held my tongue, knowing I was one smart remark from losing my last chance at a modicum of independence.

“You may take one course of your choosing,” my father relented.

Yes.All is not lost.

“Lorcan will enroll in all of your classes. You shall accompany him to his extracurricular activities. If you cannot agree to this arrangement, then you will not go. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, sir.” I refrained from making the bow of a royal guardsman. He would not appreciate my insouciance.

“Good. One final thing. You shall perform the ceremony appointing Lorcan as your knight.”

I groaned. I couldn’t hold it in. This is humiliating. It’s a punishment beyond what I deserve. Forty minutes or so beyond the scrutiny of my minders was not worth this. I won’t be rebelling like that again—which, of course, is the point.

* * *

The ceremony, predictably, was a disaster.

Mercifully, the only witnesses to the travesty were Raina, Bashir, Kenton, and Cata. I could hear them gossiping in the background. Not Cata—at least I can count on her.

“Why doesn’t the princess like Lorcan? Kid seems nice enough to me. Quiet.”

Bashir, I mean this sincerely: I will personally murder you if you speak one more word.It was impossible not to overhear him. He’s a huge guy, with a baritone voice that carries. Whispering is a foreign concept to him.

“It doesn’t matter how they feel toward one another. He has a job to do. Zosia has a role to play. Neither of them gets a choice,” Raina informed him, quellingly.

Which isn’t strictly true. Lorcan chose this arrangement, when offered. He could have turned it down. Stayed in the outside world to capitalize upon his smidge of fame. (I looked it up; he is, annoyingly, a bit of a celebrity in certain sports circles.) Apparently, he has different ambitions.

Unlike him, I never had a choice.

He is the price I must pay to gain a measure of freedom. Raina is right, though—we don’t have to like one another.

Lorcan maintained his posture: one knee bent, gaze downcast. The only movement was the flicker of a breeze through his untrimmed mop of hair. It reminds me of wind in a field of ripe wheat, ready for harvest. Somebody ought to cut it properly, for once. Maybe I can prevail upon Raina to make him do it before we leave.

Apart from the hair, he was neatly attired in the white, crimson and violet-blue of the royal guard. Auralian colors, not dissimilar to French, British, and American flags, only darker in scheme. The long blade at his back is for ceremonial purposes, I assume. While everyone (except me) learns to wield one, sword fighting is generally unnecessary. Few are skilled at it outside of the royal guardsmen and Cata’s tribe, the Covari, warriors loyal to the Crown. Functionally speaking, there are no guns in our country, they’re so closely guarded.

“Rise,” I commanded, upon completing the rest of the botched blessing. This High Priestess gig is an incredible bother. Lorcan’s gaze met mine. I inhaled so sharply it hurt, and had to force myself not to step back. Blue eyes like a winter sky, blazing with cold fire. Determination. Resolve. Frightening in their intensity. I can’t read a single emotion there. He is utterly blank.

I hate you I hate you I hate you.

He probably hates me, too. I would.

“My life in service to the goddess and the crown,” he said, his only line, one not strictly correct. The line ismy life in service to the crown.If I can make errors, though, so can he. His voice is surprisingly nice. Soft, but carrying. I feel as though he’s sworn himself not to some abstract concept, but to me, personally—not that I want it. Confusing.

“I accept your oath.” Not that I have a choice.

I turned on my heel and moved quickly toward the main courtyard. Warm summer sun has baked into the blackstone of the castle walls, a source of radiant heat which isn’t exactly welcome at this precise moment, no matter how smart those architects were to capture the sun’s energy all those centuries ago when it was originally built.

He fell into step three paces behind me.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, turning to glare at him over my shoulder.

“Protecting you, Highness.” He sounds vaguely bewildered, as though I’m violating some sort of agreement. The rest of our group hung back, still chatting.

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