Northern Lair
She didn't know how long she had traveled. Although the Northern tents were stationed right on the outskirts of the city, she had never felt that this journey took so long. It was almost as if the parade purposefully snaked through every winding street, no matter how obscure, so that each of her citizens could see how she had "abandoned" them for a life with the barbarians.
But looking at all of these familiar places, she felt acute throbbing pains in her chest.
Daphne hated to admit it now, but before, she would frequently sneak out of the palace and visit the surrounding city. Her parents turned a blind eye to it, thinking it was good that their little princess knew the hardships of the people and that life was not all riches. But once her aunt and uncle had ascended the throne, they feared that Daphne would further grow her popularity with the commoners and someday encroach on their power, so they banned her from leaving the palace.
Although it had been a long time since she last visited these neighborhoods, she could still remember the streets they once had been. They were definitely not like this.
Houses were half burned.
The grounds lay charred.
"I'm so sorry," she muttered, not sure if she felt more guilt towards the people or towards her parents.
She was a failure of a princess.
Her proud people were now slaves to the people they looked down on the most.
— — —
The coffin landed on the hard ground with a thud, sending an electrifying jolt down all of Daphne's aching bones.
"We're here."
A now-familiar gloved hand extended outward towards Daphne, and she was forced to take it.
As she attempted to stand up, her muscles felt like gelatin. Her legs quivered, shaking under the weight of her own body.
The Northern Barbarian king reached for her, attempting to wrap a hand around her shoulder to steady her, but she brushed him off, instead firmly planting both hands on the corners of the coffin to haul herself up.
"Your Majesty doesn't need to dirty your hands on me."
Her voice was hoarse as her throat was dry from not drinking water ever since she entered the coffin.
The coffin was intentionally propped to be unstable. The elevated portion where her head had lay would be easier to climb out of, but she could not walk up the inclined plane. All she could do was try to step out of the deepest part of the coffin and climb over a wall that was a good deal of height.
She tried to bring one leg over the coffin rim, but she couldn't muster her strength. Plus, the flowing white dress she was put into was firmly wrapped around her waist, and she couldn't properly move her legs.
In fact, the wedding dress was purposefully designed to be a tad too tight, squeezing against her body as she moved.
Much to the amusement of the Northern King, she tried again. And again.
Every time, she tried to bring up her legs just a bit higher, but every time, she felt as if she depleted her energy such that she was actually making less progress.
She cursed the strange Northern coffin design.
She had to save her energy. She had more important matters to do later that night.
Biting the inner sides of her cheeks, most unwillingly, she stretched out her arms in an admission of defeat.
Instead of tugging her out of the coffin as she had thought, a strong arm wrapped around her waist, bringing her airborne. And before she could even voice her disapproval, she was on solid ground again.
"My Princess, you've made progress, learning to admit defeat," he half-teased, but there was barely any amusement in his eyes.
She turned around coldly. "Oh, Your Majesty, we're not yet wedded. You should not be too close with your hands."
"We'll never be officially wedded, Your Highness. Don't you remember? You're just a mere consort and not the queen."
Consorts were not granted an official wedding, and they were only meant to be vessels to bear heirs or pawns in a political game. To be put frankly, they were the lowest creatures of the court. At least the maids and servants could travel around as they pleased. Consorts? They were confined to whatever region of the royal palace they were placed into.
At least, that was the way in the Kingdom of Eversun. However, her father had no consorts, and Daphne grew up despising the fact that the idea of consorts existed in the first place. A proper marriage should only consist of two.
But now, she could only count her blessings that her name would never enter official records as the Queen of the North. That is, if the Northerners kept records at all.
"Consorts usually do not have wedding processions." He bent down, straightening a ruffled corner of Daphne's gown. "But my new consort is too lovely, so how can I not want to share your beauty with the entire Kingdom of Eversun and the rest of the world? This way, everyone can see which lovely princess willingly joined my court."
He pointed to the distance.
In that direction, there were only rows and rows of round tents. In fact, no matter where Daphne turned, there was only the same uniform pattern. However, directly in front of her was another tent, larger than most. It bore a plumage of crow feathers at the top, and Daphne could only think that the Northern King was purposefully making it easy for an assassin to find where he was sleeping.
He motioned for a young female, a presumed servant, to join them.
"Yes, Your Majesty," a female voice with a thick accent sounded, and for the first time, Daphne realized that the Northern King spoke with virtually none by comparison.
"Take her to the wedding." His eyes met hers, and she almost asked where he was going. Although he reeked of danger, if she was to become one of the consorts who never even met the king, her assassination plans would be definitely foiled.
The servant nodded stoically, gesturing for Daphne to join her.
They walked towards the large tent and the Northern Barbarian King in the opposite direction.
Daphne clutched the dagger in her hands.
Spinning around, she called out, "Will you be here tonight?"
"Of course." He smiled. "How can I miss our wedding night?"
She smiled too, but hers was not meant for him.