3.

 It was Elaxai who bandaged her after every battle, a short beautiful Elvi, with blond hair reaching her knees. “You were careful this time, your highness.” She said, wiping the crusted blood on the wound. Atarah flinched and bit her lips. “He stabbed me.” Elaxai smiled, and her pupils changed color. “I'm glad my pain makes you happy.” Atarah gripped the bedsheets when Elaxai placed her palm on the wound, and a rush of heat followed it. She was using magic. “Oh no, your highness. I just assumed your meeting went well with Prince Dragomir.” She looked Atarah in the eyes, her expression worried.

“He stabbed me,” Atarah said, eyeing her shoulder. The Elvi removed her palm and got up. “All done. Get some sleep. You have to give a speech at the memorial tomorrow.” Elaxai lit up some honey-scented candles in her room and left, closing the door behind her, giving Atarah the peace and privacy she wished for.

                                                   

                                                        ^^^^^^^^^^^^

It was past midnight when Astara came in quietly. She sat in front of the circular window and stared at the full moon. The candles had burned out a while ago, and Atarah was sound asleep, her left leg sticking out from the blanket and her arm above her head. Astara smiled, looking at the person she promised to protect. The girl has a long way to go, she thought, and quietly walked towards the big cushion, sniffing the air, and then lying down, closing her eyes, joining her master in the dream.

Someone was tapping on the window. Atarah’s eyes flew open, her eyebrows creasing as she squinted to make out the darkroom. Rubbing her head, she got out and placed her hand on the marbled desk. The lamp turned on, illuminating enough to see everything. There was another tap. Atarah followed the sound. It was coming from her balcony. The long glass doors were locked from inside, and a curtain was hiding the person behind them. She glanced at Astara, who was snoring lightly, her head away from the balcony.

Atarah parted the curtains, yawning, and was not shocked to see the person standing behind the glass doors. it was Dragomir. “It's 4 am.” She said, pointing at the moon hidden behind the clouds. Dragomir must not have heard her. He pointed at the lock and made a sign to open it. Huffing, Atarah unlocked the door, and the prince stepped inside, dusting his black robe and taking it off. “I said midnight.” Atarah folded her arms. “Sorry, I lost time counting the dead.” He replied sarcastically, walking towards the sofa set and getting comfortable.

“Here.” Atarah threw a brown pouch on his lap, intending to harm the prince, but unfortunately, Dragomir had fast reflexes. “Did you count them?” he asked, checking the content inside. Atarah raised her eyebrow at him, silently saying: how dare you question my math?  But Dragomir didn’t believe her. He still spilled out the content on the marble coffee table and started counting. The big chunks of diamonds twinkled like stars against the black surface. 

Atarah took her seat opposite him and watched as he counted the rocks. She remembered their first encounter five years ago. It was the King’s 55th birthday, and a grand ball was held to honor his excellency. Everyone from the neighboring kingdom was invited, including Antares. The politics were set aside for one day as the Royalties greeted each other in their expensive dresses and drank rare wines.

Dragomir was dressed like a prince, dancing in perfect harmony with all the young ladies. Atarah was trying to read everyone's body language. It was her homework for the day to identify each person’s unique attributes. What do they bring to the table? Why did they accept the invitation? Who are they looking to please? Little did she know that the little princess was getting set up by the King to marry the third son of King Othello. Atarah covered her smile with her hand. Dragomir was filling the pouch with the diamonds, counting them again. She didn't want a marriage , so they made a contract:  Atarah would provide him 25 diamonds on the first of every month if he succeeds in advising his father for not marrying away his brother to Atarah. Which he did. 

It was silly of them, two 16 years old’s acting like adults. Defying their fates, venturing out on their own. “How was your day?” Dragomir interrupted her thoughts. Atarah blinked twice, trying to remember his question, and then got annoyed. “You stabbed me.” He chuckled, “ you would have done the same.” He shrugged and got up, putting on his robe. “until next time, your highness,” he smiled from the shadows of his hood.

Before the prince could exit the palace, the bell on the clock tower rang five times. It wasn’t the sound that brought up goosebumps on Atarah’s body, but what it represented. Her heart tightened up. “Run. Now.” She whispered at Dragomir and pushed him out onto the balcony. “What is it?” he asked, holding on to the ropes and placing his feet on the railing. “Just go.” Atarah wanted him out of the kingdom as fast as possible. She kept looking back at the doors of her room.

She turned around and found her balcony empty. Good, Atarah sighed internally, praying he makes it to the borders on time.

This was bad. The sentence was stuck in her mind. She couldn’t think past it. Before she could do anything, the doors burst open, and two soldiers ran inside, rifles ready in their hands. Behind them was the head court lady, Margaret. Her cheeks were stained, and her nightgown was hastily put on.

“Your highness,” she grabbed Atarah’s arms tightly. “Yes?” Atarah could only whisper. She didn’t know why she asked when she knew the answer. Margaret looked up, her old eyes speaking for themselves. “The king is dead,”