Preflight

Anemone, hidden away in her royal quarters, removed her princess’ gown and slipped back into her sheer dress and green tunic. I can do this, she thought, breathing in deep the faint traces of perfume in her room.

From her cabinet, she stuffed only the bare essentials into a leather sack—three changes of clothes, shampoo, soap, and enough wheat biscuits to last a few days. She packed a carved emerald into a small box, a jewel that allowed her to easily materialize magical arrows on a whim. As for her bow—it should be easy to make when she’s outside, she thought.

Slipping on her hefty brown boots, remnants of soil stained the pristine marble floors under her heel.

She was really going away.

Everything about this room—the smells, the eerie quiet of its soundproof stone, and the unnecessarily ornate decorations that covered it top to bottom—it wasn’t her. This wasn’t the life she wanted.

Looking out her balcony—she wanted to be there. Outside. Free.

It was as Marina said.

Should her father pass, her rule would be wrought with difficulty, hardship, and perhaps ending in her being dethroned someday. Besides, she never wanted to rule over anyone, let alone a kingdom.

Her hands stumbled upon a book with swirling, golden engravings on her desk. My diary. She hadn’t written in it for years. Once a means to relieve boredom, now abandoned in favor of frequent escapes from the castle grounds.

Anemone ran her hands on its grooves, her fingers tugging at the cover. The temptation to open it rose, but she declined the devil’s offer and turned the book on its back. If she opened it, nostalgic memories of castle life might root her in place, droll as they may have been.

The door behind her knocked three times, one after the other, with the third coming in a moment later. She knew who it was. “Come in.”

The door squeaked open, only enough to let a single petite girl in.

The girl only stood up to Anemone’s neck, and the princess herself wasn’t too tall to begin with. Hair tinged with citrus orange draped over half her face, only letting a single pale yellow eye peek through. Her dress was cut up to her knees, looking more like a festival coaster than a proper hem cut.

She bowed, hands cusped over her belly.

“Princess.”

Anemone turned. “Fianna. I’m so sorry.”

Fianna shook her head. “Don’t be. This was a long time coming, was it not? Think of this as another coordinated escape plan, like always.”

“I'm not coming back,” Anemone said, face contorting into a frown. “I'll really be leaving. All the good and bad about the castle alike.” She stared at Fianna.

When they let a silence pass, Fianna's face fell. She seemed to have finally understood the gravity of tonight's act.

“Then at least say goodbye to your mother,” Fianna said.

“That's…”

Fianna slung Anemone’s sack over her shoulder and strained a smile. “My final service to you.”

“Thank you.”

Anemone strode out of the room with Finna following closely behind. They made their way down the overgrowth-lined castle halls. At the end of several pantries stood a limestone door with faces of kings etched on its verdure masonry. A draft slipped from within, putting Anemone on edge.

“Why is the mausoleum open?” she said, fingers tracing the etchings.

“His Highness must have decided to offer his prayers tonight.” Finna turned around. “I'm sorry. This is a bad idea. We should—”

Anemone tugged on her sleeve. She stared forward, her expression iron. “No. Let's go in.”

“Your father, he'll know you're going.”

“He already knows.”

“What? Princess, this is…” But Anemone had already gone in. “...unwise.” Fianna, not being royal blood, could not follow.

Ornate ceramic urn and ancient potted plants sat on the sides of the castle’s mausoleum halls, honoring kings and queens past. Crumbling stonework made no issue making its presence known, loose stonework cracking below Anemone’s heel with each step. She wondered how many generations of sovereigns lived in Ka-Ilyah. Even the most recent kingly urn outlived her thirty-two years of life tenfold.

A hole in the ceiling allowed moonlight in every other step. At the center of the mausoleum was the burial plant of the most recently deceased sovereign—Amemone's mother. Standing in front of it—the silhouette of her father.

“Father,” Anemone called, her voice echoing twice. “You knew.”

King [?] crept back and beheld his daughter. “When I heard of what happened in the Sky Legion attack… and when I saw how you looked at the Otherworlder… I knew this would come to pass,” he said. “I just did not think it would be today. So I came down to talk to your mother.”

Anemone came down here to talk to her mother, too. Queen Josephine was merely a sapia, and didn't have the agelessness nor the sweeping immunity to disease elves had. Illness took her shortly after Anemone’s birth, and her father had fallen into a deep depression ever since.

“I wanted to say goodbye, too,” she said. She shifted, uncomfortably side-eyeing her father. “You don't wish to stop me?”

“Your mother, she taught me that letting things go is a virtue. She told me people should go out and live, for life is short and only passes once. Surely a sentiment only shared by the short-lived, I thought.” Then [x]’s face fell. “But that was the reality for her,” he said, clenching a fist. “She ran to this kingdom to escape, run away. And in my love, I imprisoned her.”

Anemone breathed deep, her thoughts circling his words. “She ran away? From where?”

“From beyond the range. The Federation.”

“Wait,” Anemone’s eyes widened. “That's her homeland?”

“It would seem so,” the king said. “Though she did not talk about it much.”

Didn't Marina tell me to go to the Federacy with Sir Haruki? It was a chance to see her mother's homeland. Was this coincidence, or did Minister Marina know about this all along?

Anemone stepped forward and offered her mother's Burial Fern a long bow.

“I won't stop you, Anemone,” [x] said softly. “But the other Ministers and the garrison at large may not agree with the sentiment. So make your escape swift.”

With a newfound resolve, Anemone gave a steely nod. “You don't have to tell me something I already know, father.”