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You stare out at the billowing sails floating on the horizon, listening to the seabirds call out to each other like the traders down in the distant market place.
“This man! This Demon!”
The calm is broken by your father’s angered shouting and you sigh, leaving the balcony ledge and stepping back into the palace with heavy but high shoulders. You give the maids a guilty nod, urging them to leave the situation to you and you take your father's hand as he rants on.
“He refuses to negotiate! Refuses to even be civil in his writings!”
“Yes, well, mother was always the better diplomat.” Your unhelpful comment does nothing to calm your father. He throws the crumpled letter onto his desk.
“I go out of my way to extend our precious shores to him and he treats it like an insult! He only wants submission not ally ship, there is no diplomacy with Ra’s al Ghul!”
You walk him up the many stairs to his bedchamber while he fumes, passing by palace attendants who give you knowing glances and apologetic looks. These…negotiations with the nation of Nanda Parbat where not going well it seemed.
Your father wanted to strengthen trade between you and the nearby mountain nation by offering better protections along the trade route between you, which is so often crawling with raiders and thieves. The al Ghul royalty was not open to the idea of using their own men to protect what they saw as another nations trade route.
“If you would let me help, Pa-”
“Don’t waist your time as I have, daughter.”
With that he walked into his bedchambers to sulk by himself. You knew he didn’t mean to sound so dismissive of you, but it certainly sounded so, this only made your resolve to intervene stronger.
On your walk back to your own chambers you whisper to a passing attendant.
“Bring me my scribe, please.”
You fussed and troubled over the letter for hours before you finally put your stylus down, stretched your stiff fingers and handed the letter over to your scribe, stressing to them the importance of the letter and the necessity of it being translated and delivered with the utmost care.
“Prince of the mountains,
Perhaps be this young naivety but I yearn for tensions between our nations to still and seek appraisal from your throne.
My intention with this letter is to pass over our father's long lasting conflict to extend a friendly, though hesitant, hand of ally ship.
I am aware you keep your city quite guarded in the magnificent surrounding mountains and that opening trade at all was no small request, but I believe that strengthening the trade route between our two great nations will only be a benefit to all.
As I am sure you know, our shores boast many goods from far off lands and I intend to share said wonders with your peoples.
I leave this humble proposition at your feet and patiently await your response.
Princess of the seas."
Maybe there was a tad too much flattery but you’d rather the Grandson of the Demon’s Head think you're a bit of a suck up than think you ungracious.
It only took a single fortnight to receive a response in a deep green envelope with a golden wax crest. You opened it as soon as it arrived with cautious optimism.
“Princess of the seas,
Your desire for my appraisal is an understanding yearning, however your subterfuge of my father and your own only reflects the fragility of your character and your father's utter incompetence in not only his rule but parentage as well.
Your disrespect of both our fathers will be generously assumed to be a product of your self admitted naivety and poor upbringing, not a declaration of war.
My nation has already opened enough of our borders to allow trade from your and other nations, a practice that I am wholly against, and we have no plans to further any existing relations or extend any of our men for your benefit.
I deem it necessary to remind you that trading with us is a gift to you and one that can easily be revoked. If you are so ready to forget that, then you may keep your precious shores to yourself.
I wish you better knowledge and a swifter hand.
Prince of the mountains.”
You were infuriated to say the least.
You got up from your chair and paced around the room, now having more understanding of why your father would get so worked up by mere letters.
You even got your scribe to bring you the original first draft of her translation so you could read it yourself and make sure she didn't misinterpret your words.
Finding that there was no mistranslation only made you angrier. You penned your response and sent it out within the hour, ignoring your scribes nervous glances as she translated the letter.
“Prince of the barren hills,
I feared, for a moment, that my scribe had done my attempt at diplomacy so poorly that a supposedly well read scholar such as yourself could possibly misinterpret my efforts so horribly.
After thorough investigation, I can conclude that my scribe has done right by me and it is in fact your own boorish self-righteousness that could have possibly penned such a response.
I speak many languages but I must confess that the dialect of yours in specific I find tediously convoluted and vainly self-important. I find it has none of the delicate prose or poetic charm many of your sister dialects share. I say this to generously suggest that I or your scribe have perhaps misinterpreted your intentions.
Do not fret, forgiveness is a virtue my great father has passed down upon me and I bare no ill will. I will repeat that my intention is only to strengthen our trade ties, offering very valuable goods from our proud ports to your nations grand peaks.
We have made efforts to secure a safe route in our own land and I do not see why it would be so difficult for you to do the same through the treacherous and bandit filled mountains you’ve chosen to call home. Especially for a trade route which, might I remind the good prince, is used by both our peoples.
Please accept a gift to show my utter compliance and respect. I do hope it will stay fresh on the long, arduous journey.
Princess of the seas."
It did not.
Damian gagged as he unwrapped the rotting fish from it's packaging. His sharp gaze turned back towards your letter, inked in the steady hand of your scribe.
The fish was quickly whisked away by an attendant as he scrunched the pretty blue envelope in his fist, throwing it into the fire. He watched the silver wax seal melt, turning a burnt black.
He then sat down to pen his reply, his blood boiling at a similar temperature.
“Princess of spoil,
Your gift is well received.
You may find my dialect difficult but I find yours very simple. That is to say, I do understand your fervent desire for our assistance in securing a safer route. Your kingdom's men are not known for their bravery or skill and obviously cannot be trusted with the task themselves.
I also understand that your men might find our mountains very dangerous and difficult to traverse where no man from Nanda Parbat would struggle or fret. Be this the case, I will not be extending our soldiers to protect any of your sea-legged people. If they fare better on boats then perhaps they should stay there.
I hope you understand that your transgressions will not be taken lightly and that, if you were a man, I would have initiated a duel for such offences as you have shown. However, due to my grandfather’s guiding hand and my mother’s wise teachings, I will instead extend forgiveness and even offer a gift of my own.
Merciful Prince of the mountains.”
Just then the decorated box beside you makes a scuttling sound and you jump away from your desk, calling for an attendant. The attendant takes one look at the little box, hearing the scratching and scraping from inside, and calls for a guard instead.
The guard opens the box with very little dramatics and a little black scorpion scuttles out and onto the floor. You and the maid scream, both clutching at the guard, who looks quite scared himself despite the spear in his hands.
You’ve fought men twice your size but none of them had a fabled venom so deadly it could incapacitate a horse.
An assassination attempt is quiet the escalation from gifting him a dead fish, but what else should you have expected from The Demon Prince?
“Prince of cowardice,
If you think my supposed insolence so dire as to make an attempt on my life, be a man and complete the task yourself.
Where our two lands meet, there is a grove of wood with a large rock formation that lies near our famed trade route. I will be there on the next full moon and if you are not, then I will take that as a forfeit of your honour and a show of great weakness.
I'd prefer to keep this between us. I have no need for spectacle.
May the better fighter win.
Princess of the seas”
The full moon was only a fortnight away and the letter would reach him only a few days before that. In that time you trained, planned and tried to find a good enough lie to tell your father.
“You spoil her too much.”
He chides playfully as you tie the end of the braid you've just finished in your horses beautiful mane. She chuffs and kicks the dirt when she sees him.
“You would know about such things.”
You chide back and he chuckles. He pats the steed on her nose, pulling out a few clumps of sugar from his pocket which she laps up immediately. After a moment, you clear your throat and decide to just ask the question outright.
“Pa, I’ve been meaning to ask for your permission to go on an expedition of sorts.”
He looks to you curiously,
“Where to?”
“Along the shoreline, not far. Only a few days trip.”
Half a lie, half a truth. His bushy eyebrows scrunch,
“A few days. My girl, that-”
“Nothing I can't handle. I’ve done it before. We are in a time of unprecedented peace, father. I know how to avoid being seen…and she’ll be with me.”
You nod towards your steed trying to lighten the mood a little, your father hums.
“You do not leave our borders. If you see trouble, you ride in the opposite direction.”
You nod, feeling a little guilty about lying to your good father but this is for your honour. Now that he's set his sights on you, who knows what else The Demon Prince is willing to do to get rid of you, he might even target your father or your people.
The farewell party your father threw was quite dramatic but you appreciated the opportunity to get as much good food in your stomach as possible before you set off on your journey.
The next few days are punctuated by the mundane routine of travel, sharing meals with your horse while having very one sided conversations, updating your map of the land as you pass and avoiding any signs of human life.
The setting sun shines beautifully on your steed's pitch black mane as she clops down the slight decline towards the evident circular rock fixture you mentioned in your letter.
You pull on her reigns to slow her stride, pulling out one of your slim daggers, meant for throwing at a distance. You take your horse into the middle of the rock fixture, circling for a few minutes until it's clear no one is there.
You wait, shoulders tense and eyes constantly roaming from the surrounding hills to the nearby wood where the sun has started disappearing behind the trees.
You grip your knife when you hear a horse's stride and out of the forest gallops a magnificent stallion with your enemy saddled on top of it.
You'd seen Nanda Parbatan horses before, brought by merchants and traders but this one is truly worthy of someone called The Demon Prince. Standing tall, the massive steed stomps nearer, it's large hooves picking up grass and dirt.
The rider is also very regal, you must admit, his presence demands attention. He wears little armour, just like you and his eyes train on the knife in your hand.
“You don't intend to kill me with that, do you?"
He sneers in his native language. You circle each other and you, after ensuring he wasn't going to attack you, put your dagger back in it's holder, responding in your own tongue.
“I intend to beat you fairly. In a duel.”
“To the death?"
You unsaddle your horse, drawing your sword.
“We shall see."
He chuffs and steps off his horse, unsheathing his own sword and then dropping it on the ground.
“If we both dueled with blades, you would be dead in mere moments. I would rather not have come all this way for such a sad battle."
Your glare hardens. You drop your sword, getting in a fighting stance, glaring at his amused expression.
You're far from stupid, you know he is the better fighter but that doesn't mean you can't beat him. Your biggest advantage is clearly how much he underestimates you and you have to use that to it's fullest. You deliberately hold the incorrect posture, shifting your feet, clearly showing him where your strike will be.
He charges before you can, tackling you and quickly putting you in a headlock. You try not to panic or struggle too much in his grip, trying to give him the impression that you can't get out of his hold. His arm constricts your airways as he hisses,
“You are just as arrogant as my grandfather predicted. I will bring him your head."
“At least I will fight my opponent with honour while you would rather have them killed by the venom of another creature like a coward."
“Wha-"
You unexpectedly elbow him right in the nose, scrambling up to your feet as you watch him clutch his face with great satisfaction. Then you hear him chuckle and your satisfaction turns to confusion.
“Grandfather was wrong, you are far more foolish than he said. I didn't send the scorpion to kill you, you fool. It's venom could not kill a child."
“Lies!"
You charge at him, angered at the way he laughs in your face. He swiftly stands and strikes you in the stomach before you can react. Your side makes painful contact with the ground as you clutch your constricting stomach. He stands above you with mirth.
“I should leave you here for the utter disrespect you've displayed. Let the wolves find you."
You catch motion behind him and before you can even call out a warning, an arrow sings through the air and pierces the thick hide of your horse, right where her heart is. She cries and bucks, crumbling to the ground.
You scream, scrambling up to futilely try and calm your beloved mare. You look towards the prince with rage but his shocked expression is all you need to know that he didn't plan this.
Another arrow wizes past and you only narrowly avoid it.
“Raiders!"
He shouts, saddling his horse and holding his hand out to you. You only hesitate a second before taking it, straddling his horse as it sprints towards the tree line.
You turn back to watch your mare on the ground and you let yourself wonder if you could circle back and get to her in time bef-
You only have milliseconds to register the arrow speeding towards you before you scream in agony. The small arrow head lodges itself into your back, just deep enough to stick and you cling tighter to the prince's back.
You feel the stallion sprint even faster for the treeline but it's still so far away. You grip the throwing knife at your side and turn to search for an archer among the group of bandits. You give your hardest throw and though it painfully digs the arrow further into your flesh, the slim blade catches the archer’s hand allowing you to make it into the treeline with no further arrow fire.
You struggle to stay attached to the prince’s back as the horse jostles heavily, trying to manoeuvre around forest bush and trees to escape.
You tried to stay conscious, you really did but you would've fallen off the horse if it wasn't for your enemy's tight grip on your arms.
You're vaguely aware of being yanked from the horse, carried and placed down awkwardly before feeling the searing pain of having an arrow ripped from your back as a hand covers your scream. You struggle, gripping at his arms but he only holds you tighter and hisses at you to be quiet.
He lets you go, pushing your shoulders to the ground and lifting your layers of clothes to show your back. You breath deeply as soothing water is poured onto the bleeding wound, looking around at the dark cave he's brought you into.
You hear the echoes of various sounds; shuffling around, clinking, jostling, before feeling him smear a burning substance on your open wound. You grunt, suddenly sitting up as you remember the person who's supposedly treating you is not an ally but an enemy.
“What is that?"
You hiss, looking towards the garish bowl of green paste he's summoned from thin air.
“You are in no position to question me."
Your glare at each other until he looks back to his bowl, picking up more of the medicine on his fingers to apply it to your skin. You turn forward, tensing at the burn but still holding the back of your shirt up for him to work.
You glance towards where his stallion lays against the cave wall. Out of breath but still magnificent. You think of your own steed and the arrow that pierced her, deep but not deep enough to kill. She will bleed out if you don't do something.
While trying to think of a plan, you slowly come to the realisation that you won't be able to save her in time, not with raiders still looking for you. Even if you could, she would never make the journey back home with a wound that deep. You let a few tears trickle down your face, silent at first but then interrupted by a wet inhale you couldn't keep down.
Unfortunately, the prince hears and smacks his lips.
“Children in Nanda Parbat can endure more than this."
You don't know why you dignified him with a response but you did, murmuring,
“I raised her since she was a foul."
You can feel the him falter in his movements for just a moment. You have no idea if he even knows the significance of one's horse to your people, that they are treated as not just animals but as friends. He doesn't say anything else and the only sounds in the cave are your occasional sniffs and his horse shuffling around.
After the medicine dries into a hard paste he pulls your shirt down and packs his supplies away, only leaving his water flask out.
He stands, pulling two daggers from his pants and for a terrified moment you realise how vulnerable you are, injured and alone with no escape.
But then you hear him walk further away to the mouth of the cave.
“Sleep off your wound, our duel is not over."
It's said with guile and you can only stare at his retreating back in confusion. You glance from him to his stallion. Is he testing you? Seeing if you'd be so dishonourable as to steal his horse and make your escape so he can justify killing you or perhaps a future invasion?
You sigh, making the cumbersome effort to stand and try to stretch without hurting yourself. You look around and start collecting little sticks from around the cave to make a fire with the flint in your pocket.
The prince is gone for awhile and as you lay next to the fire you wonder if this is a show of trust or a test of your honesty. If the medicine is truly medicine or if it's meant to kill you slower. Just as you were wondering if he'd even intended on coming back, you hear footsteps outside the cave.
You jump to your feet, pulling out another blade and stepping in front of the prince's horse. You rest from your fighting stance when the figure comes into the light of the fire.
Prince Damian stands in front of you, your riding gear in one hand and your bloody sword in the other.
“They’re dead. She rests."
He drops the items, walking over to his horse and sitting down. You take your sword, bathed in the blood of both your horse and her killers. Sitting on the opposite side of the cave, you clean the sword and begin checking your gear.
In one of the pockets you pull out a long braid of hair, the very one you braided into your horses mane. You look towards the prince, who pretends to sleep, reclined on his steed.
You watch him, his face lit by the warm glow of the fire. He looks almost handsome when not spouting foul words and sneering at you. Almost.
Taking a lock out of the braid, you plat the strands into a smaller loop and tie it around your wrist, placing the rest in one of your gear pockets for safe keeping.
Usually, a horse's body, just like a loved one’s, is cremated so that their whole being can truly be at peace. You cannot do this for your companion but at least you know she is suffering no longer and her body will be taken by nature soon enough so that she can rest peacefully.
At least, that's what you try to comfort yourself with as you fall asleep that night.
The next morning you woke up to the sound of clinking riding gear and horse chuffs. You get up, cringing at the soreness from sleeping on the cave floor, and step outside into the creeping sun.
Damian adjusts the riding gear on his stallion, saddled with both your provisions and his.
“I was going to leave you."
He says without looking away from adjusting his reigns and for some reason, you don't believe him.
You walk up as he saddles his steed and silently saddle it after him, clutching the fabric of his shirt for balance as you sit behind him. He gently guides his horse and then you're off, riding in the direction of your home.
The journey is a very quiet one, even more so than when it was just you and your horse. You only speak up to point him in a better direction than the one he's going, a short-cut or to avoid more populated areas. He silently takes the advice, you imagine with much humiliation on his part and the thought cheers you up a little.
On the second day, you disappear into the forest again for shelter during the night. He abruptly stops the steed and you look around to try and see the reason.
"Do you still have any of those tiny, pathetic knives."
You glare at him, your eyes following his, catching the movement in a nearby bush. A rabbit, a big one too. You slowly take one of your knives out.
"Can't do it yourself?"
He huffs at the comment, "You need the victory more than I-."
You throw the knife over his shoulder with far more force than necessary and the animal stops moving. You let him prepare the meal while you get the fire going and look for any wild fruit in the bushes around you. The meal is bland but well cooked and you both sit in silence as you eat. You look towards the stallion munching on grass nearby.
"What's his name?"
He looks up at you for a long moment, glancing towards the horse.
"Titus."
You nod, strange name for a horse. The silence continues until you eventually let one more question out. You've been riding in the direction of your home with no word on your duel or what will happen when you get there.
"What are you planning on telling your grandfather?"
"That you begged for mercy and I offered it to you in exchange for never asking a favour from me or my nation again."
You want to spit out your food and pull him into the fire but all you can do is sit there and glare, ignoring the urge to scratch at your wound.
Your conversations went like that for the next few days, short and curt, airing on the side of hostile but never tipping over. Although, swords were nearly drawn when you fell asleep leaning against his back while on the move and he pulled on his reigns, deliberately making his horse buck up, almost knocking you off if you hadn't grabbed his shirt in time.
You shoved his back hard in retaliation but he just snickered.
When you finally ride up to the gates of your city, you don't feel as accomplished or comforted as you were expecting. The closer and closer you've gotten, the more you're reminded of your beloved steed. You recognise the land you used to ride with her, you see the way people pamper their own horses as you pass by them on the road and it reminds you of how your father would do the same to her.
"You can stop here."
You shuffled to get off the horse but the prince doesn't slow the steed.
"Don't you wish to show me your kingdom, with all its grand, magnificent ports you speak so highly of?"
You glare at the back of his head but don't stop him as he rides into the city, striding along with the other merchants and traders who begin to notice the face of their prince. Many citizens recognise you as well and you imagine it's a strange sight to see, their princess on the back of another's horse especially when that other is the prince of Nanda Parbat.
More and more people make a path for you, towards the castle gates where you can already see your father, bursting down the grand stairs of the palace. Word must have spread quickly.
Your steaming father makes his way down the very long entrance to his palace, followed by his always nervous advisers.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Damian halts his horse and you jump off, bringing your hands up to placate your father.
“Pa, listen. There were raiders and he saved my life. That is all."
Your father looks between you and Prince Damian, rage still prominent like he didn't believe that this prince could possibly do something selfless in his life. A fair assumption.
He then looks to the prince's massive horse and seems to only then notice the absence of yours and your riding gear piled on top of the his horse.
He gives you a questioning look and you shake your head. He softens and brings you into a hug, one you immediately reciprocate with a shaky breath. The prince watches this show of parental affection in curiosity.
“Let him go free, Pa, please."
You feel him sigh and he releases you, his gaze turning heated again when he locks eyes with the prince.
“For your service to my daughter, you will not be harmed inside my walls but I cannot ensure you safe passage back to your home."
“I don't need it."
He says, monotone as always. He glances at you, "...but perhaps some do. I will consider bringing your concerns to my grandfather."
You can only frown at such a backhanded show of goodwill that only he could manage.
Your father grunts, turning around to head back into the palace, guiding you with a protective but gentle hand on your shoulder.
You follow him but can't resist looking back, meeting the prince's eyes, maybe for the final time, before he turns and guides his horse out of the palace grounds.
The next few days are spent trying to calm your father once he learned of the wound on your back and dealing with overbearing maids fretting over your health. You definitely wouldn't be allowed out of the palace walls for a while.
More days pass when you receive a familiar green enveloped letter, handed to you by a curious looking attendant.
“Princess of the seas,
I must express great disappointment that our duel could not play out as it should have and I hope you are not as cowardly as to pass on the chance of a second duel in the future.
You will be very pleased to know that when I relayed the events of our expedition to my grandfather and mother, they did not seem opposed to the proposition of thinning the number of raiders and bandits that litter our grand mountains.
Regarding your fallen companion, I can attest to the loss of a beloved friend even if they are of animal kind, the grief is as if they were a brother. I doubt any steed would be a sufficient replacement for your own but please accept this fine mare as a show of goodwill. She will serve you well.
I expect your next letter to be one expressing your desire for a second duel and your gratefulness in my attempts to humour your trade requests.
Prince of the mountains."
You couldn't even finish the letter as a horrific chill moves up your spine. He gifted you a horse. The fool, of course he would do something so immensely ignorant.
You race down the stairs of the palace and out to the stable where a magnificent, huge mare is being handed to your very confused stable hands.
You hear your name being yelled from inside the palace, your father's distinct anger.
And he has a right to be angry, from his perspective, and from the perspective of the many citizens who watched this mare be walked into your palace by the Nanda Parbatan kingsmen, you've just been given a very extravagant marriage proposal from the grandson of The Demon’s Head.