'Friendly' Banter by Yours Truly

“Remember princess," Claire was telling her a couple weeks back, her expression annoyed, "although we have the royal guard always patrolling the city, you have to swear on your soul to not to wander off alone."

Renielle had simply dipped her paintbrush into an empty bottle of red paint, and politely reminded Claire that she wasn’t a child. However, Claire kept going.

“Please, princess. Even if it’s some guard urging you to let him escort you back home, you run. Run as fast you can to a crowded area. You never know who’s… who.”

Assassins. The word had lingered in the air, unperturbed, but it’s echoes rang out in her mind like bells.

                                                                             ***

The same bells which were now nudging her to get away from the sword near her throat. Gusts of wind told her it had stopped raining, and they were standing still in the middle of the field near the city border. The silence stretched on between them for a while, and Renielle knew the man won’t hold his patience for long.

“Have you become deaf? I said, turn around.”

The sword suddenly felt sharper… and much closer. Her heart was pounding in her ears, beads of sweat formed on her skin, foretelling her to move, to run. To do anything but to keep standing here, pondering whether the good gentleman wielding a sword was simply a guard, or an assassin.

She did not move. See— if the guy truly was a man-hunting extraordinaire, then her head would’ve been lying beside her feet at the very first second he confronted her. Henceforth, he was not a threat.

“Turn. Around.”

For now.

Heaving a deep breath to calm herself, Renielle decided to reassure the man of her innocence. Without turning around or moving so an inch, she opened her mouth and; “Good evening, sir! A lovely day it’s been, right?”

For a while there was silence, as the man was supposedly caught off-guard at the unexpected tone she used (most likely, he wasn’t expecting the trespasser to be a lady). But soon enough the man regained his usual tone. “Not if you don’t show yourself, lady,” he said with an annoyed edge to his tone, making Renielle want to test the waters even more.

“Ooh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, eh?”

“Ugh,” she heard a small groan, but it didn’t affect the position of the sword. “Listen lady, if you don’t reveal your face I’d have to—”

“What, decapitate me?” she said coyly, cutting his words across midway, nearly all fear forgotten (she was still wary though—the sword was hovering near her neck), “with all due honesty sir, you don’t seem the type.”

“With all due honesty, ma’am, you seem like you don’t need your head very much; seeing as how you refuse to use your intelligence when desired,” he said dryly, making Renielle wonder how much of it was sarcasm and how much of it was a genuine threat. The answer arrived soon in the sudden twitching of the sword, its edge moving near her face at a speed that instantly made her hold up both of her hands in regret.

“Woah— alright, alright!” she waved her hands in the air, hoping to placate the man, “I was just messing with you. Good lord...” She waited for a second, and when the sword didn’t move again, she took that as a cue to slowly turn around, pulling off her hood as she did.

The first thing that caught her eye was the man’s uniform; the kingdom’s insignia embellished onto his polished chest plate in all its glory. But the thing that stood out the most was the familiar mop of dusty-brown hair she saw back at the marketplace; his forehead covered by messy fringes, casting a shadow over his confused eyes. The rest of his hair was braided to the side, extending below his shoulders.

Sure, he was an ordinary patrol guard, not amounting to a palace guard, but he did at least have some style wearing that braid, that much Renielle could agree on.

“Uh? And you are...?” he asked after pondering for a good few minutes. Renielle wanted to scoff at the sheer audacity of his cheek, but she wasn’t going to until the sword—which now rested limply by his side—was safely put away.

She swallowed and controlled her tone to sound less condescending, “Really? You don’t recognize me?” At that, the guard only held up a hand, asking her to wait while he stared at her with squinting eyes. For a brief moment Renielle wondered whether she was unrecognizable because of her absurdly pinned-up hair, but given that her face was plastered on this week’s newspaper, she held that thought at bay.

“No, no,” he was now saying, “I’m sure I’ve seen your face somewhere, but with your hair like that…”

…Scratch that. This man was hell-bent on ruining her good mood. She yanked out some of the pins, wincing slightly, and then roughly finger-combed her hair to ease out the messier tangles. “Haha, just ignore that, I'm sure my hair looks like a royal mess right now,” she said, glancing at his face to see his reaction.

Unfortunately for her, he didn’t understand what she meant.

“…Okay?” He managed, looking more confused with the passing second. When Renielle kept looking at him expectantly, he only shifted in his spot and broke away from the eye contact. “I mean, it’s unfortunate your hair is like that-- but don’t you think we have to get back to the issue at hand? You’re not allowed to be here—“

Renielle took a step forward, “Wait, you really didn’t get that?”

“Get what?”

“Wha— no, nevermind,” Renielle didn’t know why, but now the mere sight of the man’s face was making her blood boil, he was wasting her time! “Tell me about yourself, sir. Exactly who are you to not to recognize the face of the empire’s princess?”

“Empir—oh. Oh crap—you?!” he half-pointed at her, “I mean—your highness?” the reaction took its time, but in the end his eyes were wide and his posture as straight as a wooden plank, “it’s a pleasure meeting you, princess!”

Renielle smiled coldly, “Yes, a pleasure meeting you too, uh, Sir…” her voice trailed off, glancing at the guard expectantly.

“Oh, erm, of course—it’s Alen, princess. Alen Burnes.”

“Sir Alen, then,” she settled on.

Alen gave an unsure laugh. “I’m no ‘Sir’, your highness. Just a regular patrol guard.” A small nervous smile settled on his face before he bows apologetically. “I’m deeply sorry I didn’t recognize you, princess. I’m bad with remembering faces, you see.”

“Ah, I suppose that’s why,” Renielle said, still not fully convinced of Alen’s genuineness. “Raise your head, Sir. I’m not angry; anyone would have a hard time recognizing me with my hood on.” And with this ruffled-up hair, of course, she added silently.

“Uh. Yes. But, princess...”

“Haha, being all formal doesn’t suit you from what I’ve seen today, Sir Alen.”

“No, no!” the patrol guard’s voice was frantic and his face flushed, akin to an employee threatened to be fired, “please, hear me out. I didn’t know it was you because if I did, I would have never pulled out my sword on you— much less threaten you, your highness!”

"It’s alright,” she said. “That did frighten me a bit, though. I thought I was dead for sure.”

“Please forgive me, I beg you. I have done a major crime... I’m aware I deserve punishment so...”

“Ah yes, I do agree that you committed a major crime, Sir. You didn’t laugh at my joke earlier.”

Alen deadpanned, “you’re not taking this seriously, princess.”

“Haha!” Renielle lightly patted the startled guard on his shoulder, “I simply jest. So chin up, sir Alen, I’m understanding, and it was an honest mistake. You are free to go, scot-free.”

At her attempt to lighten the mood, he only sheathed his sword back into its place. Since he didn’t reply, Renielle took this as a chance to step around him and hopefully make a graceful get-away. As she passed by him though, she thought she heard a little mumble coming from the guard. “...Pardon?” she asked, hoping she had misheard him.

“Why, though?” he asked.

“Hm?”

“Why are you the one dismissing me, when it was I who caught you trespassing here in the first place?” he raised his head to look at Renielle in the eyes, allowing her to see his face clearly.

Despite having a slight tan to his skin tone, he looked as if he had never seen the light (and joys) of the early sunshine the guards were usually subjected to. His face was on the leaner side, a broad forehead covered by the mop of hair. Renielle got the impression that he wasn’t much older than her, judging by his build. Small freckles were sprinkled on the area around his nose, barely noticeable, but contrasting nicely with his brown eyes.

Slightly annoyed brown eyes, might she add. Whoops.

“Sir Alen,” she spoke, hoping her tone didn’t waver at the subtle accusatory tone the guard was directing at her, “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“I am fully aware that you are a princess and so free to do as you please.” His tone devoid of the nervous demeanor he had a few minutes ago, Alen folded his arms and jerked his head at the direction of the border wall, his eyes locked onto Renielle as if she were an escaped convict, “but why, pray tell, were you wandering out here alone?”

The sudden shift of his demeanor rubbed Renielle the wrong way, and ever so slowly, she felt the alarm bells in her mind flair up again. Nevertheless, Renielle had come here with a prepared excuse, and she would use it to its fullest extent. She rummaged in her cloak to pull out a small shoulder-bag she was wearing. The guard looked on as Renielle pulled out a sketchpad and a few pencils. “I... came here to survey the area for a scenery I was planning to paint.”

“A scenery?” out of all excuses, he certainly didn’t look like he expected this one.

“Yes, look at this wonderful grassland with begonias speckled around, with the mossy wall in the background,” she spread her arms wide and motioned around her. And, as if agreeing to her pitiful lie, a small gush of wind passed through, ruffling her messy hair in the process,

“...and also that giant cherry tree looming in the distance; it all seems like a wonderful place to capture in a painting, don’t you think so?”

Of course, this was simply an excuse, but she didn’t lie that the place had a certain charm to it. Maybe if she hadn’t been interrupted, she was sure that the sketchpad would’ve come in handy.

“Really?” Alen scanned the area with his eyebrows raised and eyes squinted, as if with enough effort he could see the exact things Renielle pictured, “I still think there are better views in the palace gardens than here, princess.”

“Oh... you think so?” Renielle smiled at him, relieved that she had driven away his attention from the elephant in the room. “It may be because I’ve grown accustomed to the gardens back home, so I prefer places like these. But I don’t judge you for your opinion, Sir. We all have different ideas about different things.”

“...It seems we certainly do,” he said blankly, his eyes still trained on the cherry tree located at the far back near the grassy path.

“...Anyways!” the same uneasiness returned—and this time—Renielle took heed of it. Making sure to act as natural as possible, she put her things back in the bag, clicking it shut. “I have to go,” she said, stepping away from the conversation and walking back to the path leading to the town’s shopping district, “I can’t keep my knight waiting, Sir Alen, so until we meet again—”

A hand clasped around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks completely.

“Princess.”

The blood drained from her face but she silently steeled her raging nerves and whipped around, regarding the guard with a cold gaze, “Sir Alen, I do not take it lightly when others try to touch me without my permiss—”

“What are you really up to, princess?” his question cut across Renielle’s words, throwing her off her radar. She realized that the whole spiel she had given him had completely went over his head; and she regretted her course of actions. Renielle was stupid to think she could trick the likes of him that easily.

She couldn’t start pretending that she hadn’t noticed how sharp his eyes stayed the whole time they were talking. And how his hand occasionally hovered over the hilt of his sword whenever she spoke. He didn't trust her, and he knew that she didn't either.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, tugging her arm away; but failing as his hold remained firm. “so drop this ridiculousness before I shout out for my guards.”

“Didn’t you just say you had a knight waiting for you?” Alen asked, his tone staying distant and apathetic.

But Renielle won’t be intimidated. After few seconds of effort, she pulled her wrist free and made sure to step a some distance away before declaring, “Yes, and the extra guards I brought with me, of course. You really think someone as important as me would travel alone?”

To her surprise, Alen simply rolled his eyes and scoffed, making her confidence falter. The next words he said made Renielle stop short of managing a retort entirely;

“Oh please, you’re not actually here to paint, are you?”

Renielle’s heart skipped a beat and her hand unconsciously fumbled with the hem of her hood—no. No. She wasn’t scared—rather she was merely fixing her cloak because she chose to. Not scared, no. After all, she was the empire’s beloved princess, her appearance had to look good, not haggard.

“I said I am,” her voice wavered slightly, but she still kept talking, keeping at a distance from Alen. “Does a princess really need to prove herself to a mere guard?”

“A mere guard?” Alen gave her a grin (she couldn’t tell whether it was a mocking one or a genuine one), “what happened to ‘Sir’, princess?”

The quiet rage overwhelmed her flight senses as she glared at him. “Excuse me?” she spat out heatedly. The guard took a brief minute to process his next course of actions and, thankfully, took the hint; raising his hands up in a placating manner. His face going back to being friendly.

“...No, no, I apologize princess, please forget this incident.” His tone changed back to the one before, all nice and polite-like, “I have a hobby of interrogating people when I’m alone with them, I can’t control the urge, you see.”

Renielle was flabbergasted.

“Wh-what kind of a weird hobby is that?”

Alen laughed a little, scratching his head, “yes, it’s silly, I know, sometimes it even makes me overstep my limits. For that, I’m sorry, once more.” He gave a slight bow of his head again.

What was the guy even thinking in his head? She thought, with so many questions piling up inside her head, making her dizzy. Was he clinically insane by any chance? Did she encounter a madman, of all people?

“Oh... no, it’s alright.” Renielle’s attempt to chuckle came out a bit weak as it died halfway through. “It’s certainly the first time I’ve heard of such a hobby, but like I said before, I don’t judge.”

Oh, but she judged, for sure now. Heck, she would judge him all day long now.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Alen grinned at her again (this time she saw it clearly; it didn’t reach his eyes), “ah, well. My break seems to be over now, princess.”

“Yes, yes, please excuse me too,” she told him, already a few feet away from him, “I have other duties to attend to. Good riddance, Sir Alen.” Renielle didn’t wait to hear his reply as her feet carried her to the path back faster than she could think. She neared the edge of the entrance, where she came from, and swiftly pulled up her hood again. Her hair pulled and proved tedious to be covered, but Renielle didn’t mind one bit.

Although she had failed in locating the secret tunnels, for now she was just glad to be away from the weirdo. The whole encounter had drained all her energy and she just wanted to be back in the safety of the palace, hopefully without Claire blowing her head off the minute she hears of Renielle’s carelessness.