Prologue

Taran sobbed harder as the whipping girl cried out in pain as the horse whip lashed across her back for the fifth and final time. It was against the law to strike a royal, so every wrong move Taran made brought misery to her subjects. The whipping girl looked up and saw Taran shuddering, her breath ragged as she stared at the girl with such guilt and sorrow burning in her emerald eyes. The whipping girl’s expression was blank as she was led back to her rooms. Taran began to weep again.

Ch. 1

Taran stabbed her embroidery with her needle. She cowered against her mother while her father fumed angrily over his desk. Escauvance was stretched out next to her feet. Escauvance was Taran’s only friend and confidence, her only kindred soul that she could trust with every cell of her being. Escauvance was her dog. She had long, silky, white hair that Taran brushed everyday. She resembled a small, feminine wolf and she acted like one too if someone came too close to Taran.
Her mother held her tighter as her father began to stalk toward them. Escauvance leapt lightly to her feet, baring her teeth at Taran’s father, the king, who had more than once kicked her. The King flashed his teeth at the dog in return then turned to face his daughter and wife.
“Cescelyne,” he barked at the Queen, “Cescelyne, what have you made of our daughter? I’m sure everyone must think she’s a barbarian the way she acted tonight at the feast. You agree do you not?” Cescelyne nodded quickly, tears springing up into her eyes. He was going to hurt her baby, her Taran. Taran could read those words playing across her mothers dappled, gold and green eyes. This is what happed every time before a whipping. Her father would point out her mistake, make her mother agree than summon the whipping girl.
The whipping girl. The thought of having to watch a defenseless peasant girl get beaten while her father nodded grimly with every blow of the whip. Taran sobbing for him to make it stop, to spare the girl her life...
“Taran!” the King nearly shrieked. The Princess was thrust back into reality.
“Yes father?” she nearly whispered, her silvery voice trembled apprehensively.
“It’s is time for your punishment.” he said as though telling her to go to bed.

Taran woke screeching at the top of her lungs. The blood, it was everywhere. It wasn’t hers, no it was the kingdom’s. Blood everywhere. Everything a sick crimson, a gory scarlet, a slaughterous cerise. She felt sweat beaded everywhere on her making her nightgown cling to her body and her hair swamped to her neck. It soon came to her consciousness that she was being held by comforting arms, a soft voice hushing her whimpers.
“Shh,” her mother’s voice came, “You mustn’t wake your father. Come now. Oh, dear, what was your dream about?”
“Blood. The kingdom’s blood.” Taran whispered the words so quietly the were near inaudible.
“I don’t understand dear heart.” her mother’s voice whispered against the silence, “Explain.” Taran shook her head. She wouldn’t make her mother suffer along with her in her misery. Queen Cescelyne was like that, if someone was hurt or was “spiritually” bleeding she would abide with them until it was worked out. She shook her head and lay back down. Her mother gently patted her forehead and left her chamber. She didn’t dare close her eyes again, for fear of the violent scenes of death that would surely begin to play across her eyes the moment she closed them. She whimpered into the inky blackness of the night, dreading something she couldn’t name or understand.
Something wet and cold rubbed against her hand. Taran bit her lip to hold back a shriek of fear that was threatening to explode from her lips at any moment. The wet thing retreated and whimpered back.
“Escauvance?” The dog barked back in recognition to her name. Taran quickly placed a hand over the dog’s mouth. “No,” she chastised urgently, “No barking Escauvance.” The dog sat on her haunches in reply and grinned back, tongue lolling out to the side of her mouth. Taran slumped back into her pillows and Escauvance jumped onto the monstrous, purple bed. Her sheets were a lavender silk and her pillows were a fine magenta cotton stuffed plump with goose feathers. Purple in Yord meant royal, white meant sweet and pure. Her father had had decorated the room completely white and purple in hopes that Taran would act the meaning of the colors. A dyer had even come in to paint the royal crest in purple on Escauvance’s right hip. The dog even had a purple quartz collar studded with diamonds. Taran hated purple.
The dog rested her head on Taran’s stomach and the Princess had began to stroke the sleek creature rhythmically, her head began to bob sleepily as the minutes turned into hours. Escauvance was snoring delicately, her head still planted on Taran’s stomach. Finally everything went a deeper black. A nothingness so absolute that the castle could be burning and Taran would be totally unaware.
Taran woke to someone rapping their knuckles on her skull. Her eyes flutter open to behold the red face of her father looming over her, his face contorted with fury.
“Taran,” Her father spat, “How dare you, how dare you sleep in you fat, lazy, good for nothing brat!” her roared in her face. “First you were born, then you embarrass me in front of my entire court by tripping to your seat last night at the banquet, and now you expect to sleep in! Why couldn't I have had a boy?!” he seethed. He grabbed a fistful of her golden tresses and yanked her to her feet. Taran bit back a scream. “Get-dressed.” He said the words slowly, working on making his voice steady and stormed out of her violet chambers.
A crystalline tear streaked slowly down the her face, this face had cried many times, the sensation was familiar, easy even. She let the tear trail slowly down her face until it reached her chin where she flicked it away with her finger. She felt something nudge her leg. It was Escauvance, her beautiful head lifted toward Taran with too-knowing eyes. Taran reached down and stroked the white creature then straightened and strode toward two enormous mahogany doors that were parallel to her bed and grabbed the diamond handles and swung the doors open. In a room that was almost as large as her own was Taran's closet. Racks and racks purple clothing hung everywhere. Shade upon shades, layer upon layer of purple clothing hung. It made Taran want to vomit. Oh how she despised purple.
She began to search for a dress and petticoat of the least purplish color she could find. She found a simple smock that was more near pink than purple and a matching petticoat. What she would do to wear a green dress, or yellow or orange or blue or brown even. Anything besides that wretched violet. She sighed and put the purple garments on.
As Taran walked down the hallway towards her waiting father her hands began to shake. Her emerald eyes were wide with fear and her breath began to speed. When she reached the large, red doors that led to dining area she was nearly crying, the fear was so forceful. She straightened her back and began her decent into the dining hall. Her father looked at her skeptically over his book.
“I see you've finally joined us.” He drawled. “You are a lazy thing aren't you.” Taran nodded obediently and muttered an apology. A servant drew a chair up for Taran and she sat next to her mother on the long, glossy, wood table. Breakfast began. First came the eggs in every which way you could imagine. Taran chose one, though she desperately wanted to eat nine or so, and began to delicately eat her egg after the King had taken his first bite. When she finished she watched her father stuff his face wanting to do the same.
“You are excused girl.” her Father barked at her. She nodded deeply and left. When she was out of hearing range she ran. She ran as far and as fast as her legs would take her letting them take hold. Her legs led out the door of the kitchens through the vegetable garden and into the royal yards. She found a tree that swooped low and ducked under it. She laid back on the mossy ground and closed her shockingly green eyes.
Hunger ate at her stomach. How much longer could she endure her father's treatment? She knew she was becoming thinner. Her ring was loose on her finger and she looked so delicate she might get blown away if the wind was too strong. She was just the way her father wanted her. Vulnerable. Taran was eighteen and her Father wanted all of the neighboring kings' sons at his mercy to marry his daughter off.
She heard footstep and quickly sat up. She saw the boots of her father's shining in the bright sunlight. Her breathing began to quicken and she quietly scooted closer to the tree in hopes that it's branches would shield her from the wrath of her father. She wrapped her arms around the white bark of the tree placing her cheek against it trying to slow her breathing. His shoes stood there for a moment more before stalking off. She waited until she was certain he wasn't near then made a mad dash for her mother in the castle.
When she burst in through the large mahogany doors of the indoor garden she ran into her mother's arms.
“Why is he looking for me?” she stuttered. “What have I done wrong?”
“Nothing, sweetheart.” Cescelyne replied soothingly. “One of your suiters is here.” She held her daughter at arms length. “I'd change your dress.” Taran nodded, kissed her mother on the cheek and fled towards her chambers.
She began a mad search through her monstrous closet for a dress that was a nice blue or almost red. She found a deep, purple dress that was close to sapphire in color. She quickly changed before her ladies came in to do her hair. The combed, and twisted and pinned until half of Taran's hair was piled beautifully on her head while the rest cascaded beautifully down her back. She thanked her ladies and found a pair of somewhat blue shoes.
Breathe. It's alright just breathe. Taran told herself as she stood atop the grand staircase waiting to ascend into the parlor where the suitor sat waiting. She began her decent, one hand was gripping the banister while the other one clenched a handful of her dress. She entered the parlor to behold a young man with shaggy, sandy, brown hair that framed his beautiful face and eyes the color of a pure lake on a misty morning. There was something about those eyes. Mischievous and kind they danced at her.
He bowed and then she remembered her manners and swept him a low curtsy. “Ah. You must be the lovely Taran of Yord.” He said pleasantly. “I am Phineas Daron of Spires. Pleased to meat you.”
“The pleasure is mine.” She still hadn't let her guard down. More men than just her father had hurt her. Perhaps not physically but emotionally.
Her mother entered the room and bowed her head to Phineas Daron and then turned to smile warmly at Taran. “Tea is served.” Phineas Daron offered her his arm and she gingerly took it. As she slipped her arm in his she noticed how muscled and hard his arm was underneath his golden brown tunic. She looked up to see him studying her arm as well. His beautiful eyes were filled with concern and his brow was wrinkled slightly. Their eyes met briefly and she looked away embarrassed.
As they stepped out onto the sunny balcony Taran closed her eyes and tilted her head skyward. She stood there for a moment letting the warmth seep into her soul heating her whole being. Her eyes fluttered open and she remembered they were having tea and she was keeping her guest waiting.
“Sorry!” she gasped. “I'm so sorry! I...”
“It's alright!” he laughed interrupting her stream of apologies. “The sun does feel nice doesn't it!” He led her to a table, which both to their surprise, was only set for two. “I guess it's a private tea!” he shrugged.
Taran took her seat. Her father had ordered her never to act above her station as a woman, she was never to speak unless spoken to. So instead of talking she stared at her empty plate waiting for the serving maids to come and fill it with food that she wouldn't be allowed to eat.
Soon enough they swooped out onto the balcony, their silver trays piled high with delicious foods and drinks. She looked longingly at the food as the maid filled her plate.