The Masked Princess Bound To The King She Hates

The wedding bells were ringing, but to Princess Ella who was soon to be a Queen they sounded like a death knell instead of a merry one.

At the altar, with her face concealed by a beautiful mask, her heart beat with a will that not even any other person in the room could possibly understand.

Today, she was more than just a bride. She was a force to be reckoned with.

She held the bouquet tighter with her fingers and looked up at the man who was waiting to see her at the end of the aisle. King Augustine. The same man who had put terror in the hearts of all in the empire. The man she had vowed to destroy.

He was a tall, calm man, whose face was a mystery, and who, without any effort, was able to draw the attention of everyone in the hall. When his eyes looked in her face it was keen and uncompromising, as though he read through the mask she was wearing.

Princess Ella kept her head, and would not fall. Not today. Not ever.

Because this marriage? It was never intended to be genuine. It was a carefully planned conspiracy--a calculated step toward her revenge. And before he knew who she was, it would be too late.

The veil was very thick and covered her face, and the lace touched her lips with every breath. The mask was icy against her skin below, concealing the single fact that might jeopardize all that she valued. The great hall which enclosed her was glittering with gold and candlelight. Massive columns rose to a painted ceiling, and chandeliers glistened like stars in a net. The place was filled with nobles, and their whispers were like a troubled wind.

They watched her. Judging her. Pondering her true identity.

A princess of a deposed dynasty. A political pawn. An outsider in disguise as a queen.

The last vows were uttered, and Princess Ella bowed her head, her fingers clenching on the material of her dress. The silk was fine and richly embroidered, and was supposed to represent riches and authority...to her it was like shackles.

She could not dare to see the man next her. She resolutely refused to.

King Augustine.

Just thinking of his name sent a shiver down her spine.

Three years ago his army had invaded her kingdom with ruthless violence. The palace which she once called home had been burned down in flames and the odor of smoke lingered days. The marble floors on which she used to play as a child were stained with blood. At daylight all that she had known was gone, everything. except for her.

Her home. Her people. Her family. Everything... except for her.

"Raise your head."

His voice broke through her mind...soothing, deliberate, unheedable.

Princess Ella drew a deep breath and raised her head. The veil was still over her face, but she could feel it...the steadiness of his gaze, implacable and unyielding, as a sword-blade against her flesh.

Take off the veil, he said.

Her heartbeat quickened. A moment she hesitated. Flashes of memory flashed through her mind...screams in the night, flames licking the sky, the last time she had seen her father at the palace gates.

No. She forcibly pushed those images away.

She raised the veil, with a calculated movement, to expose the mask beneath. There was a murmur in the hall.

Good. Let them wonder.

The mask was white and smooth covering the upper half of her face. It revealed nothing. It did not provide any information. It was a sign of modesty to them. It was survival to her.

King Augustine approached. Too close. She sensed it even though she could not see his whole expression...the intensity of his scrutiny. It was not the impersonal interest of a king in the discharge of his duty. It was sharper still. Something intentional.

Is it necessary? he inquired, his voice low but bordered on an indefinable nature.

Princess Ella defended herself. "It is tradition, Your Majesty."

There was a pause.

Tradition, he repeated, nearly in a contemplative manner.

There was something in his voice that made her uneasy, as though he had no faith in such things. As though he could see right through them.

The ceremony was over before she could think any more. It was met with applause, hollow and distant, as though in another world. Ella hardly heard it. She had reduced to a single object. Him.

The way between the great hall and the royal apartments seemed interminable. Every footstep reverberated in the passageway, the noise being swallowed up by high stone walls and long shadows cast by wavering torches. Servants followed at a respectful distance, and silent as ghosts, until they came to the great doors of the royal apartments.

They stopped there. The doors were opened. Ella stepped inside.

The room was large, dark, and too silent. The walls were covered with rich fabrics and a big bed was in the middle, untouched, awaiting. Waiting.

The doors closed behind her with a deep, final bang. The echo lingered. Alone.

Queen Ella stood motionless with her hands lying lightly against her gown. She could sense the burden of it all pressing on her...the room, the silence, the man behind her. The lock clicked. Her chest tightened. Slowly, she turned. Augustine was standing at the door, and already looking at her. Not speaking. Not moving. Merely watching.

You can take off the mask, he said. The lyrics were simple. But they were important.

No. The answer slipped out of her lips before she could stop it.

The resultant silence was instantaneous. Acute. Dangerous. Ella drew in her breath, and had to compose herself. It is. a part of the custom. "It is... part of the custom."

"Is it?" He started to approach her, taking every step slowly and cautiously, like he had the whole world.

The heart of Queen Ella beat quicker. "Customs,"

he went on, his voice now lower, are frequent handy excuses.

King Augustine stood still in front of her, near enough that she could make out his features...the harsh lines of his face, the slight scar along his jaw, the blackness of his eyes...cold, but not without feeling. There was contemplation within them. Awareness. Recognition.

The idea gave her a shiver of terror. No. Impossible. Years had passed. No longer was she the girl he might recall.

I will retain it, I will maintain it, she said.

He said nothing for a while. Then he suddenly extended his hand. Queen Ella stood still when his fingers touched the edge of her mask. Not removing it. Merely touching it. As though it were gauging its reality.

Her breath caught. "Strange," he murmured.

What is? she said, her voice now softer.

"This sensation."

Her heart beat missed a beat. The eyes of King Augustine rose, and he looked at her face behind the mask. As though I had met you before.

The world seemed to tilt. No. He could not know. He could not.

Queen Ella smiled a little, tight-lipped. That is not likely, Your Majesty.

Do you believe in fate?

The question startled her. No, Queen Ella said after a moment of contemplation. I am a believer in decisions.

There was a soft sound. Not quite a laugh. Then you have to think it was the decision of somebody, he said.

The fingers of Queen Ella clenched. "Yes."

And whose decision do you suppose it was? he said.

She turned her head a little, so that she could look at him. "Yours."

Their gazes locked. There was a change in his expression. Not anger. Not denial. Something else. Something inscrutable.

"Perhaps," he replied.

The response was too naive. Too easy. Ella scowled a little behind her mask. You are not sounding definite, she remarked.

I know a lot of things, I am sure, he replied.

"Just not those that matter."

The words lingered. Ella failed to comprehend them. But she could feel their weight. And that disturbed her more than any other thing he had said.

Afterwards, when the palace was dead silent and the candles were low, Ella was standing alone by the window, looking out into the darkness beyond the walls. It was a still night. Too still. Her mirror was a reflection of herself in the glass...a masked princess, a secret, a living lie.

She touched the edge of the mask, her fingers...but she did not take it off. She could not. Not here. Not yet.

The room was silent behind her. Too quiet.

Then...a faint sound.

Queen Ella stilled. The slight change of motion. She did not wheel about. But she knew.

He was watching her.

Again.

Always observing.

As if anticipating.

As if he already held knowledge she did not.

Her heartbeat quickened.

Deep within, beneath all her control, beneath all her silence, there was one question which would not die:

Did King Augustine know her. or was he only awaiting the time when she should present herself?

The feast seemed to lengthen out into infinity.

The great hall was filled with music, which mingled with the laughter, the sound of glasses, and the murmur of the nobles who were willing to impress their new king and queen. There were golden lights that were twinkling on the polished floors as dancers moved gracefully with their elegance concealing the tension that was just under the surface.

Queen Ella was seated next to King Augustine, and her pose was perfect, her face concealed with a mask. She had hardly taken a bite of her food. All the movements, all the words, all the glances in the hall were a play she could not allow herself to flunk.

Eat, King Augustine said to her.

She stiffened slightly. It was not an implication, it was an observation.

Yes, I am, she said, but her plate was almost untouched.

He did not argue, but she felt the slight change of his focus on her. Watching. Noticing. Always noticing.

Queen Ella took up her fork, and had to bite a little. The flavor escaped her; her thoughts were away, ever on the alert, ever on the reckoning. This wasn't a celebration. It was a battle-field. and she was encircled.

Nobles bowed their heads across the hall as King Augustine glanced over them. Power emanated out of him like a breeze, as though the whole room was at his beck and call. This was the man she was to ruin. The idea held her. She maintained her head straight, without looking directly at him.

Do you not like celebrations? he suddenly asked.

The query startled her.

No, she replied after a moment. I simply like more quiet places.

"Do you?" His voice was noncommittal, yet there was something investigative about it.

Queen Ella said nothing. She could feel the conversation veering into more perilous territory, so she stayed quiet.

After a moment, King Augustine rose to his feet. The hall quieted down immediately.

Go on, he said to the crowd, and his voice could be heard easily. It is early in the night.

But his eyes darted a moment at his new weeded wife Queen Ella, and she knew. This part was over.

The stroll back to the royal apartments was not the same. The sound of the feast died away behind them and in its place was the low murmur of their steps along the stone walks. The air was colder. Heavier. More intimate.

Queen Ella was walking beside him, all too conscious of the distance between them--and of how simply it might be lost. As they walked into the chamber the doors closed behind them with a deep, final sound. There was a silence that fell upon them, pushing against her chest.

King Augustine was the first to do so, untying the knot of his cloak and laying it aside. His gestures were very gentle and slow, as though he were perfectly at his ease. Ella stood where she was, waiting and watching.

Will you stand there all night, he said, not looking at her.

I would rather be on the safe side, she said.

That won her a look--a quick one--but that was sufficient to hasten her heartbeat.

"Cautious," he repeated. "Of me?"

Through the mask Queen Ella looked up at him. "Should I not be?"

A pause. Then, surprisingly-

"No."

The reply was too readily, too placidly. Nothing threatened her as much as this did.

King Augustine turned his back on her, and reached to the fastening at the back of his tunic. She hesitated a moment. Then she spoke.

"You were injured."

He paused, no more than a moment, but she saw.

"I've been in many battles," he said.

"That's not what I meant."

Before she could prevent it the words came out. King Augustine turned and Queen Ella went nearer, her eyes fixed on something which she had just seen as he passed. The cloth behind him had slipped. And there-a scar.

Not small. Not shallow. It made a jagged, uneven cut across his back, as though it had been struck with violence and purpose. It was old, but not forgotten. The breath of Queen Ella stopped, and her heart leaped. She knew that scar. Not by sight, by memory. Out of the tales whispered in fright. Since the night it all caught fire.That, she said, with a lower voice.

"That..." she began, her voice quieter now. Where did you get it?

King Augustine did not turn to her this time.

War, he said simply.

War. The term reverberated in her head. Her fingers were slightly curled on her sides. Because she knew better. It was no common battle wound.That scar. it was the result of the invasion of her father kingdom. That scar... it came from the attack on her father's kingdom. Since the night his army invaded the palace. Since all that she loved was ruined.

Her heart sank, and she struggled not to move.

You talk about it and I have heard you, she said, her voice very carefully checked.

Should I not? he answered.

Queen Ella looked him over.

You almost died at that, she said.

This time he whipped around, his eyes becoming more focused.

Knowest thou that?

The question was more of a blow than it ought to have been. Queen Ella froze. There was a moment of silence between them. Dangerous. Too dangerous.

I--, she was about to say, when she checked herself. "It looks severe."

King Augustine gazed longer this time, as though he were weighing her words, trying to find something under them. Then he came slowly nearer.

The heart of Queen Ella fluttered.

You see better than most, he said to himself.

His voice was not accusatory, though conscious. And that was worse. Queen Ella struggled not to withdraw, not to respond, not to show anything.

I see what I see before me, she said.

"Do you?"

Another step. Too close now. Her breath was caught, yet she stood her ground. Augustine glanced a moment at her mask, and then at her.

And what have you seen. my queen?

The question hung, ponderous. Queen Ella could feel it rubbing up against her, and it was a challenge to her control. She raised her head a little.

That thou art not as thou seemest.

She could not help saying the words. A mistake. She was aware of it at once. Something had changed in his face--a little, but there was no mistaking it. Interest.

The silence which followed was not the same. Charged. Alive. King Augustine read her as though she had just told him more than she meant to.

You talk with caution, he said finally.

"I try to."

And yet, he said, with a lower voice, you say things that are to the contrary.

The heartbeat of Queen Ella was beating in her ears. She had gone too near the truth, and he had observed. Of course he had. This was no man to be easily fooled.

You are wrong, she said.

"Am I?"

He called out in a sudden. Queen Ella drew a breath, but his fingers, rather than falling on her face, ran delicately along the sewing of her sleeve. A mere gesture, but it was intentional. Controlled.

"You are full of contradictions," he murmured.

Her breath caught.

And you are full of secrets, she thought before she could restrain herself.

Another mistake. Another silence. This time, heavier than ever. King Augustine never took his eyes off her--not a moment.

Be careful, he said.

It was not the word of warning, it was the promise. Queen Ella shivered. As at that moment she knew something. It was no ordinary marriage. Not just a game. It was a fight of consciousness. And she wasn't the only one playing.

Queen Ella stood by the window again, her mind troubled, later when the candles burned low and the palace was quiet. Everything came back to her: the scar, what he said, what he looked at. He knew something. Not all, but enough to be hazardous.

She heard movement behind her--slow, deliberate. She didn't turn, but she spoke.

You continue to watch me.

A pause. Then-

"Yes."

Her breath stilled.

And why not? she said.

It was answered after a moment--quiet, sure.

Since you are not what you pretend to be.

The heart of Queen Ella sank. The room was still--heavy, unforgiving. And then--King Augustine spoke, this time lower, nearer.

So say me. who did I marry just now?

The room was even smaller than it used to be. Or perhaps it was just him.

Queen Ella was on the verge of the bed, and her hands were loosely gripping the stuff of her dress as she looked around the room. The candles were dimmed previously, and a soft light was cast, which projected shadows on the walls.

It was too quiet. Too intimate.

She felt him at her back. Not to touch, not to speak--just there. Always there.

You are not going to bed, he said, his voice cutting through the quiet, deep and monotonous.

She didn't turn immediately.

I like it here, I said, trying to make my voice even.

It was a moment of silence.

It is not an option. he said.

Her hold was a little tighter. Of course it wasn't. Nothing here seemed to her decision.

Slowly, she turned to face him. King Augustine was only a few steps away, and his eyes were fixed upon her--not cold, not warm, but probing, as though he were attempting to read something which would not reveal itself.

I shall not sleep with you, I said firmly.

The words were suspended in the air, bold and dangerous. But she didn't retract them.

King Augustine raised his head a little, and looked at her. Not sleep together? he repeated.

Queen Ella lifted her chin defiantly. "You heard me."

Silence enveloped them, thick and heavy. Then he came a step nearer.

Her breath caught.

Thou art my queen, said he. "Not a guest."

Another step. She instinctively shrank to the verge of the bed, against which the back of her knees was pushed. Trapped.

Her heart was beginning to beat, but she would not show it. King Augustine halted in front of her, too close for comfort.

You oppose all, he said to himself.

And you ask too many questions, she replied, and tried to keep her cool.

Something flashed through his face--interest, not anger. That made it worse.

His eyes turned to her mask, and lingered there. Naturally Ella noticed, and the distance between them suddenly seemed to narrow.

His hand lifted, slowly, deliberately. Her breath stilled. He was not reaching towards her, he was reaching towards the mask.

No, no, she said hastily, moving away to the bed to make space. It was a spontaneous, unthought movement, yet successful--at least in the short run.

King Augustine didn't follow right away. Instead, he observed her intently.

You keep that mask like you were depending on your life, he said.

It does, she said before she could help herself.

There was a silence, more dangerous this time, as she had told too much. The eyes of King Augustine contracted a little.

"Interesting," he murmured.

The heart of Queen Ella beat. She had made a mistake, and he had caught on. Of course he had.

He made another movement, nearer this time. She had no farther to go; the bed was behind her. Nowhere left to go.

His hand rose again, higher this time, nearer. She choked as his fingers brushed her face, through the mask, only inches away.

What shall I find, I said to myself, should I take this away?

The heart of Queen Ella pounded. Fear--not the sort she might have displayed, but the sort that threatened to bring it all to light.

You will find nothing, she said, her voice even in the tempest within her.

Nothing, nothing, he said, and his fingers came a little nearer. Not touching, yet to make her heart beat faster. "Then why hide?"

The question remained, oppressive and inevitable. Ella held his gaze.

"If you wish to know me," she said slowly, "then you will have to do so without seeing my face."

A challenge. A perilous one.

Both stood still a moment. Then the hand of King Augustine fell--not in defeat, but in command.

Very well, he said, and she was more surprised than she ought to have been.

He stepped back, creating space, breathing room. Queen Ella didn't relax. She could not, as this was not surrender; it was something different--something reckoned.

The room changed without any notice. The light filled the room. Queen Ella swung about.

The servants were back, re-lighting candles, drawing curtains, making the room as bright as possible in an instant, almost blinding. Her breath caught. Too much light. Too much exposure.

Her hand instinctively moved toward her mask. Of course Augustine noticed. His gaze followed the movement, sharp and immediate.

You do not like the light? he said.

Queen Ella made her hand drop. I do not used to it.

Or, he said, you fear what it tells you.

The words were too near. She said nothing. Could say nothing. Since this was the first time she felt observed that night. Not completely, but sufficiently.

The servants went away as soon as they had arrived, and the door was closed behind them. There was a silence, but it was not the same. This one bore a greater burden--consciousness.

King Augustine turned his back to her, and walked toward the window. But she had heard otherwise. He was watching, still thinking, still piecing things together.

You do not behave like a person who is afraid of me, he said.

Queen Ella stood motionless. Should I? she said

"Most do."

I am not the majority.

Another pause.

"No, you are not." he said quietly

The words passed a weird feeling through her--not of comfort, not of fear, but of something. Something she did not wish to call.

The bed towered over her, reminding her where she was to be, what this night was supposed to mean. Ella hesitated, and then sat on the extreme end of the bed--wary, remote, as far off as she could be.

King Augustine looked at her, and, without saying a word, crossed to the other side. Not nearer, not thrusting anything--just. there. The distance between them remained, but the tension didn't dissipate.

Minutes taken, or possibly more. In that room, time was not real. Queen Ella sank down stiffly with her back turned slightly to him, her eyes open although she was still. She didn't trust him.And yet. he had not forcibly taken her, had not touched her, had not taken off the mask. She couldn't. And yet... he hadn't forced her, hadn't touched her, hadn't removed the mask.

Her mind wandered restlessly. Why? Why should a man whom she hated behave in this way?

She heard movement behind her--slow, careful. Her breath stilled.

"You're awake," he said quietly. It wasn't a question.

Queen Ella didn't respond.

"Good," he continued. A stop, and--because I have been thinking.

Her heart began to race again. And what have you been thinking, she said warily.

Silence. Then his voice was nearer, deeper, more definite.

That you are not what you say you are.

Her breath was caught in absolute stillness.

And the more I see you, he said, the more I am sure.

The fingers of Queen Ella clenched on the material of the sheets. Stay calm. Stay composed. Do not react. But her heart was false, and beat quicker, noisier, perilous.

And then he spoke again, right behind her, close enough for her to feel his presence without turning.

So speakest me. A silence, heavy and inevitable. Who are you, Ella?