Do or Don't

Princess Isorropia would rather stab herself in the heart than get married today. The white and gold dress makes her want to set the room on fire. Or at least set the low-cut, glimmering gown ablaze. But her wants and needs are the least of her concerns. Ogygia needed this alliance, needed for her to marry the crotchety old man known as King Talenic. 

Even if the thought makes her skin crawl. The thought of his grubby, sticky hands touching her is so repugnant, goosebumps raise along the back of her neck. It's not even his age, nearly four times her own, that unsettles her. It's the knowledge of what he's done.

Talenic started the internment of mages twenty years before she was born, and in the twenty years since, thousands of mages had been imprisoned or killed at his command, just for having the ability to use magic. Ogygia, a small country to the south of Talenic's empire, Mundia, had thus far protected its people from his conquest. Her marriage to the man is supposed to extend that protection.

And it's something that needs to happen. Ogygia has become the only haven for mages on this continent. And now they make up more than half the population. Isorropia is among that number. Which means if her fiance ever discovers her abilities, she's dead. Or worse. She brushes back her mass of curls, looking up at the vaulted ceiling instead of the too-thin gown. Her mind races.

She's been looking for a way out of this for a year. Her revulsion isn't the problem in this marriage. Her parents are planning to abdicate their thrones soon, and her younger brother is not ready for the responsibility. He's too young, too impulsive, to deal with the current politics in the kingdom effectively. Not that she'd do much better, but with her parent's failing health, she's the best option. Somehow. 

"They're ready for you, Princess." The guard at the door nods, his cheeks flushed. She inhales, holding the breath until she's sure she won't use it to scream. Then she allows the blushing guard to lead her through Talenic's palace.

It's as white and golden as the dress chosen for her wedding. Gilded statues line the walls, and crimson rugs cover the pristine marble floors. The rugs make her lips twitch. It's like a representation of all the blood spilt to build this palace and the empire itself. It's also super tacky with the rest of the white and gold decor. 

The guard pauses at the end of the hallway, next to golden trellises draped with white and blue speckled morning glories. She knows the trellis marks the beginning of the garden, where her wedding is going to take place. All she has to do is walk forward, say her vows, and protect the mages that call her kingdom home. 

She takes a step. Then another, her sandaled feet dragging her where her heart begs her not to tread, bringing her into view of pampered nobles who are only there to kiss their king's ass. Her king's ass, after today. This was not how she was planning to become queen. And this is not the kingdom she'd planned to do it. Her eyes land on the priest first. His brown eyes are filled with sympathy, so she quickly looks away, her gaze landing on Talenic. 

He's wearing a golden cloak over a white tunic and black breeches. The cane he leans on is solid gold, and his hands rest upon a ruby that fits neatly in his palms. The spiked crown sits on a head nearly bald, only thin wisps of white hair poking through. Wrinkles that must've started as frown lines cover every inch of his skin. He smiles at her, revealing toothless gums. Stalking to his side, she takes one of his wrinkled hands. She doesn't flinch. She doesn't tremble. The minor victory would make her smile if she wasn't focusing on not vomiting. A noble in the crowd mutes a giggle with a gloved hand.

She doesn't blame them. Isorropia knows she's twenty years old and beautiful. She knows they must make quite the pair. She stands taller than Talenic by a few inches, especially with him stooped over, and her unlined mocha skin is the opposite of his pale, age-flecked wrinkles. And he's the one dressed like he belongs in a palace, while she looks like she stepped out of one of the many pleasure halls in the city beyond the palace walls. 

Talenic might be the most powerful man in the world, but he felt the need to humiliate both her and her kingdom with this display. And when he succumbed to his age, she'd remember this. That was the only vow she intended to keep from this day. 

The gardens go silent. The priest had been speaking, she realizes. She'd tuned him out, subconsciously denying reality. She clears her throat, ready to speak the words that will seal her fate forever.

"I—"

Hair raises on her arms, on her neck, and she ducks as the gardens explode. Her magic rises to the surface, instinctively trying to protect her, but she shoves it down. In Mundia, magic is an instant death sentence, and standing next to the king while connected to her power would likely be a swifter death than the explosion. 

A magic explosion. She frowns, lifting her head, as dozens of people, all wearing silver masks that obscure half their faces, rush into the garden.

Her jaw drops. Erebos was a mage group dedicated to the destruction of Mundia. There hadn't been a peep from them in over five years. Now they were here, invalidating everything she was willing to sacrifice for Ogygia. She's more than sympathetic to their cause, but now was not the time.

Or maybe now was the perfect time.

She reclaims her fiance's hand.

"This way! We need to get you to safety!" She yells, leading him down the aisle, back to the hallway she'd emerged from, and the guard waiting there. The old man is painfully slow. 

Nobles run in every direction, screaming so loudly she can barely hear herself think. A bolt of energy streams past her head, barely missing her. Barely missing the king. She whirls, her hand falling to her thigh, where any other day, she'd have a dagger sheathed. 

"Go on ahead. I'll catch up!" She commands, and Talenic continues his slow shuffle forward, without her to lead him. Her eyes shut, and she pictures her dagger, looking exactly as she'd left it in the bathing chamber. Wickedly sharp, in a leather sheath, and a single small sapphire set in the pommel. 

Inhaling, she summons it to her hand, praying that no one notices the dagger wasn't there before. She shifts back on her left foot, ready to defend a man she hates from people she agrees with. How did her life come to this? The first of the Erebians reaches her, laughing at her audacity. And she's reminded for the second time that she looks absolutely ridiculous in the gown, whether she's getting married or getting into a fight. She may as well be naked.

She lunges forward, quickly both disarming the mage and sweeping his legs out from under him. His magic flares in an unspecific bolt hastily aimed at her, and she's able to deflect it with barely a flicker of thought. Once again, she hopes no one can tell she was the one to do so. With her masked attacker lying on the ground, she turns to check on the king. He's made it to the shadows of the hallway. She should feel relieved. She doesn't.

Not really caring about her own well-being, she remains in the gardens, fending off the attacking mages non-lethally, and leading the panicked wedding guests to safety. At some point, her lips tip up in a relieved smile she doesn't hide as well as she's hiding her magic. The chaos will ensure the delay of her marriage, giving her more time to think of another way to fix this, to prevent the bloodshed that's sure to happen if she doesn't follow through with this engagement.

She's so caught up in her own relief, the stream of fire arcing for her goes unnoticed until her only options are to defend herself with her magic, or pay the price for her distraction. Her arms fly in front of her, and a shield of energy forms, deflecting the stream of fire. Panting, she makes eye contact with the mage who'd conjured the flames. A mage who, despite the mask, she'd recognize anywhere. 

Prince Dez of Ogygia, her younger brother, is the one staring back at her. Her jaw falls open once more as her mind spins. He couldn't be here. He couldn't be jeopardizing this. She'd explained the agreement to him a hundred times. 

Dagger forgotten, she rushes for him, conscious of the guests still around. The ones who'd seen the magic she'd used. The ones who would see this. But now her brother's in danger. And he's the one person she'd let the realms burn for. Even Ogygia.

"What are you doing?" She hisses, grabbing him by the front of his tunic. 

"Rescuing my idiot sister." He says, his tone too calm for the situation.

"By shooting fire at my head?"

"You were going to block it. Besides, the empire needs to see how much of a hypocrite Talenic is. After all, what kind of man executes thousands of mages only to marry one, even if she is beautiful?"

She shuts her eyes and counts to five. Dez's magic swells around them, forming a shield preventing any attacks. For now. 

"Talenic needs to be stopped, Is. You know that. It's really cool of you to aim for peace, but as long as Mundia's goal is genocide, that's never going to happen." She restarts her count. He's right. But he's wrong. War, or whatever this is, should be the last option. Always. But now they might not have a choice. But did they ever? Maybe she can fix this...

Her eyes fall on the place she'd last seen Talenic. And widen. Because what she'd mistaken for a crimson rug earlier had actually been a spreading puddle of blood. King Talenic's blood. The relief she feels nearly takes her knees out from under her. But so does the panic. Dez's group just assassinated the most powerful man in the world. She meets his familiar caramel brown eyes.

"We're leaving. Now."

A week later, her head rests on a carriage window, and she's fighting a headache. Mundia and Ogygia are at war, and somehow Isorropia was blamed for it all. On the bright side, she didn't have to marry a tyrannical, senile old man. On another bright side, Dez had a plan past interrupting her marriage and killing the king. Turns out, her brother had been working with Erebos for a while. And so had many of the mages that fled to Ogygia for safety. 

The refugees weren't that any longer. They were rebels. Soldiers. And somehow, Isorropia had gone from reluctant bride to general. She was far better suited for the second title, and she'd be lying if she said she still couldn't feel Talenic's clammy, wrinkled fingers on her hand every time she closed her eyes, but she still wasn't sure it was worth the cost.

The carriage grinds to a halt, and she lifts her head, smoothing her temples. She has to look relaxed. In control. She tilts her chin slightly as she rises from her seat and strides out of the carriage. 

Then she stops. Their plan today had been simple: release the mages held in one of Talenic's death camps. Many of their soldiers knew someone held there, or had been there themselves at one time. The metallic stench of blood, and the sweeter stench of rot, tells her there won't be much in the way of freedom given today. 

Dez's face is pale as he approaches her. His head shakes slowly, confirming what her nose is already telling her.

"They're dead, Is. All two thousand of the prisoners here. And they've been dead...a while. I bet they were executed before the wedding."

"Why would they have been killed before the wedding, Dez? This was what I was trying to prevent. What I was supposed to stop." Her throat works on a swallow. He has to be wrong. He has to be. She wouldn't have married Talenic for nothing. 

So she rushes forward, ignoring Dez's protests that she doesn't have to see this, that she can't change what happened, and she looks upon the bodies herself.

And he's right. They've been dead longer than a week. Easily. A long silence, broken only by the buzzing of the flies, stretches between Isorropia and her brother.

"Do you believe me now? This was never going to stop, Is. Not unless we took a stand for what's right."

She looks at him then, though in her mind, she's still seeing the piled bodies behind her, a testament to her former fiance's brutality.

"I do."