The decoy princess

They told me I was born to be a hero.

My fate and the princess’s became intertwined on the day of our birth; two little girls came to this world at the same hour – one to rule the kingdom, one to be her decoy.

I never knew my parents, and I was told it was for the best. There was no time or space for them in my life, they said, and I shouldn’t care about a pair of peasants whose greatest achievement was producing the princess’s look-alike.

For the first few years, the princess and I were inseparable. With our rooms adjacent, we spent all days playing together, sharing meals and listening to the same bedtime stories. For her, it was a game, but I had been instructed to copy her behaviors and mimic her mannerisms. For me, it was a chore which carried rewards and punishments. And yet I couldn’t help but like her and think of her as a sister, even though I would never dare to say it out loud.

Despite looking similar, we were as different as day and night. I had all the cleverness and wit, but my physical prowess was lacking; she was a spunky firecracker that climbed trees faster than a kitten. Her laughter was pure and infectious, her voice loud and robust; I was quiet and composed, my smile gentle and controlled.

As a decoy, I would accompany the royal family at all their audiences and outings while the princess stayed safe in her quarters. This, I felt, was what I had been truly born to do; the courtly atmosphere both delighted and inspired me. Even as a child, I could pick up on the subtle political games and diplomatic affairs, like a chess master who saw three moves ahead. Still, I was instructed to sit still and smile, and never speak if not spoken to. I wasn’t a real princess, I was told, and it wasn’t my place to interfere with royal affairs.

My function as a decoy became increasingly prominent as I grew older. Visits with the princess became a rarity; instead, we were both trained in different areas. With our rooms adjacent, I could hear her snoring from boredom during lessons in diplomacy. Meanwhile, I was trained in martial arts, so that I could defend myself if I were accosted by assassins. Keeping myself safe was my duty, I was told, as my death would endanger the princess.

By the age of ten, I knew for sure that I wasn’t made for physical exercise; by the age of fifteen, my body was so used to bruises that some of its areas were permanently tainted blue. I barely held on to the saddle during my riding lessons; meanwhile, the princess could hop onto a running horse and command it with a squeeze of her thighs. While I struggled to parry my trainer’s sword, the princess could break a broom on the back of a stablehand who harassed her.

At the same time, I could hear her frustration with the courtly rules, treaties and geography lessons which she wasn’t wired to comprehend. Information which was so clear to me made little sense to her. Oh, how I wished we could switch places so that I could leave the running and fighting to her and she could let me deal with the court!

The hardest part was knowing it could never happen. Our lives were fixed, written in stars and in courtly documents on the day we were born. She was the princess. I was the decoy. The defender. The distraction. Sit still and smile, I was told. And never, ever speak.

I don’t know which one of us hated it more. Sometimes, after lessons, when there was nobody around, we both sat by the locked door separating our rooms. We didn’t talk, but it was enough to just be there, together, with our backs pressed against the door, listening to each other’s breathing. Two birds in a golden cage, separated by a plank of wood and a kingdom’s worth of responsibility.

My time with the king and queen was both the most exciting and the most excruciating. I loved every second of the courtly life, of the political games, long-winded speeches and barked orders. But most of all, I loved the faux affection they showed me when I pretended to be their daughter. For those precious few hours, it didn’t matter that it was all for the benefit of the audience; but when the lights went out, when the last guests had left, the coldness was overwhelming. Alone in the empty halls, with only the guards as companions, I would listen to the echoes of my faux-parents’ heels on the marble floors as they drifted away to their real lives, leaving me to face the cold truth about mine.

I often wondered how the princess felt about being left out of everything that mattered in her parents’ lives. I knew they came to visit her; I could hear their muffled conversations through the wall, but I never picked up any particular warmth, any note that would signal happiness or affection.

As I grew up back to back with the most important little girl in the kingdom, I often wondered which one of us was more unlucky.

On the eve of my sixteenth birthday, I decided that I had had enough. I packed a bundle, I took my training sword, and I snuck out to the stables. I barely set food on the damp hay when a shuffling sound caused me to turn around. The princess’s big brown eyes shone in the light of my lantern as she looked at me, startled, and, to my great surprise, relieved.

That night we made a pact. We would ride in opposite directions and never look back. She would become an adventurer; I would don the guise of a wealthy widow seeking favor at faraway courts. I gave her my training sword and she gave me a pouch of gold; then, for the first time in our lives, we embraced. On that cold and windy night, it was the warmest I had ever felt.

That was over a decade ago. Until this day, we still exchange letters and leave signs for each other wherever we go: a drawing of a sword carved onto a table in a tavern, a golden coin to pay for her expenses if she ever passes through.

She is the closest person to family I have and the only one who knows all my secrets. Perhaps one day we will meet again: she as a famous hero, I as a ruler of my own domain.

Until then, I will share my story with those who feel trapped in their life, who think their path had been carved out for them too soon. There is hope for you yet. All you need is a lantern to guide your way and a friend who will always be on your side. Even if you are kingdoms away.