Chapter Text
You awake with a start, eyes wide and heart racing. Despite the restless nights you’d been having, you felt more energized than ever. Not even waking up on Life Day morning could compare to the excitement you were feeling. Of course, Life Day comes and goes, but realizing you have a soulmate happens only once or twice in a lifetime.
You’ve been keeping track of your dreams for weeks now, even going so far as to write them down in the middle of the night. Two images keep occurring and reoccurring night after night: an emotionless helmet and the skull of a...mythical creature. After hiding yourself away in the castle’s extensive library, you had come to realize that these were symbols associated with that of Mandalore. A Mandalorian’s helm and the legendary mythosaur skull had been plaguing your dreams for weeks, and you knew exactly what it meant. Your soulmate was undoubtedly a Mandalorian.
You’re writing about your latest dream when your sisters rush in, each of them giggling with excitement; ever since your oldest sister, Sommer, left to find her soulmate, you had become their new hero.
“Good morning, sissy,” shouts the youngest, Myla, who totes a childhood blankie. It’s baby blue, made entirely of pure silk, and the edges are embroidered with threads which shine like gold.
“Did you have any new dreams?” Asks Mara, the oldest and unspoken leader of the bunch of young girls.
“Well…”
You draw out the syllable, reveling in the way your sisters gaze up at you in excitement.
“There is one new dream I’ve been having…” you trail off, lifting Myla and sitting her on your lap. “I’m off on an adventure with a helmeted man—at least, I think they’re a man—and we’re protecting the strangest looking baby I have ever seen!”
Admela, the middle of the bunch, leans forward, her eyes as wide as saucers. “What does he look like?”
You straighten your back to sit up straight. “Well, he’s green and very, very wrinkly, but I’m sure he’s just a child, because he never-“ but Mara interrupts you.
“No, no, not the baby!" The girl huffs, as if this should be obvious to you. "The man! What does the man look like?”
Beside her, Admela nods enthusiastically in agreement.
“Is he very handsome? Are his eyes as blue as the sky? I hope my soulmate has blue eyes,” Mara trails off with a swoon.
“See, that’s the thing, ladies!” You sigh wistfully, a hint of doubt lacing your words. “I’m not sure what he looks like, because he never takes his helmet off! I don’t even know the color of his skin because he’s covered head to toe in this...silver, shiny armor. He wears a helm, a chest plate, gauntlets—even leather gloves," you explain, careful to keep your voice neutral. "In my dreams, I never see him without it.”
From her seat in your lap, Myla blows a raspberry, earning giggles from the rest of you. “So you don’t even know what your soulmate looks like?” Asks Mara incredulously.
You shake your head, “No, I don’t. But I think there’s something fantastic about that,” you say, quietly—as if you’re revealing a secret. “I know that we’ll love each other regardless of appearances. Isn’t that just a wonderful thought?” It’s your turn to swoon, inciting an eruption of bashful and excited giggles from the gaggle of girls.
Once the laughter fade, Admela looks up, her soft features twisted in puzzlement.
“But…if you don’t know what he looks like, how will you know when you meet your soulmate? What if the man in armor isn’t who you think he is?” You shrug, the wistful smile never leaving your face. “I’m not sure, I suppose. But that’s the beauty of it all, girls! And once I find him, I promise I’ll make my way home to tell you all about it,” you assured, giving each of them a kiss on the forehead.
“And when, exactly, were you planning on leaving?” your father, King Kasimir, teases you as he enters your bedroom, your mother, Queen Oda, not far behind him.
The young girls giggle as they rush towards the king, who kneels and opens his arms to them. “You know your sister is still away finding her own soulmate, my darling,” the queen says, running a hand through your hair sympathetically. “As tradition states, until she returns home, you are unable to leave on your own journey.” She smiles somberly at you, her eyes not unkind.
You nod, eyes falling back down to the journal in front of you. “I know, Mother. It’s just,” your hands begin flipping through your journal until you stop at an illustration of yours.
“It’s just...it’s time. I'm not a little girl any more. If I'm old enough to assume the throne, I'm old enough to begin my quest. Besides, Sommer was only eighteen when she began her journey, and I'm nearing my twenty-second year," you laugh, hoping to bring some levity to the grave look on your mother and father's faces. But to little avail. In fact, they make no indication that they've heard you as they focus their gazes on the sketches in your journal.
Your mother’s eyes widen, and her head turns to meet your father’s gaze. She murmurs his name, beckoning him with the single utterance so he can also gaze down at the well-drawn skull of none other than the great mythosaur. You watch as she clings to his arm, whispering to him. He nods absently and begins turning the pages of your journal until he finds another illustration. This time, a familiar t-visored helmet stares up at you and your parents.
It becomes increasingly difficult to broach the subject of your soulmate. Any mention of him leads to a subtle (albeit abrupt) change in conversation topic. Any mention of beginning your journey is immediately shut down. Soon enough, you begin overhearing your mother sternly instructing your sisters not to ask you about your soulmate any longer.
You’re able to stomach this suppression knowing that once your older sister returns from her journey with her soulmate in tow, you will finally be granted permission to begin your own journey. Away from your parents and their thinly veiled disapproval, away from the prying eyes of your younger sisters, and away from your responsibilities as a princess—which your parents have recently been emphasizing.
The queen piles on the lessons, choosing to focus on matters of diplomacy and politics, rather than languages or artistic sensibilities.
Your father frequently asks you to accompany him on walks through the palace, focusing more and more on the throne room as he reminds you of your importance as the second oldest princess.
“You are an example to your younger sisters and to the people of this kingdom. It is time to focus less on...this soulmate of yours, and more on your obligation to the people of your kingdom.”
You frown up at him, eyes narrowing as you find yourself reaching your limit.
“You never gave Sommer a talk like this.” You cross your arms, chin jutting upwards in defiance, “If I remember correctly, your lecture was quite the opposite. You told her to take as long as she needed to find her soulmate.”
The king sighs, face softening sympathetically as he makes his way to you, laying a gentle hand on your shoulder.
“Sommer’s circumstances were different. She wasn’t...“ Your father sighs again as he trails off, averting his eyes. “She wasn’t leaving to seek out a Mandalorian.”
It’s the first time anyone has said it out loud, the fact that your soulmate is more than likely a Mandalorian, and the boldness of your father’s admittance knocks the breath out of you and brings tears to your eyes.
“And what’s so wrong with a Mandalorian?” You ask, your voice quivering with anger and hurt. “You’re asking me to—to abandon my soulmate before I even have the chance to meet him! To desert the threads of fate and—no, not even desert the threads of fate, to sever them! Are you so prejudiced?" you spit, indignantly wiping at your eyes.
You watch in real time as the surprise morphs your father's features, surprise and disappointment lacing his face.
“They’re not merely prejudices, Princess, and I know you're smart enough to realize that. It’s no secret that Mandalorians come from a long line of warriors. Do you think I want to see one of my daughters tortured and mangled by the person fate has tied her to?”
He steps forward to cup your cheek with one of his hands. The gesture, as tender and kind as it is, typically brings you great comfort. But now, it feels like some kind of betrayal.
“You’re treating him like some sort of monster,” you sniffle, the dam finally breaking and allowing your tears to spill down your cheeks. “And you don’t even know him!”
Your father’s eyes harden and his lips press together in a tight, thin line. “Neither do you. And you won’t. Not if your mother and I have anything to say about it.”
You rip yourself out of his hold, mouth opening in a horrified gasp. You can see the sympathy—the sheer empathy he feels for you—within his eyes, hidden beneath the hardened gaze he’s giving you. But it is the king who stares you down in this moment—not your father.
“Your mother and I have chosen someone else. Someone who will be a better match for you than some lawless mercenary.”
You hide your face in your hands, muffling your sobs as your father continues.
“Someone good enough for you and for our kingdom. You must think about the needs of the kingdom in times such as these,” he lectures.
You feel his hand, gentle upon your shoulder, and you give him one last distraught look before you turn and run from him.
You run, and you don’t look back, and you don’t stop until you reach the room and slam the door.