Bondage and Release

She stood upon the balcony, gazing out past the setting sun as it sank below the horizon. Around her, soft winds blew the long strands of her auburn hair and she broke the stillness by releasing a deep and weary sigh. Below, the people eased themselves from their daily tasks and abandoned the shops and chore in favor of taverns and home. Below, the world slipped into a quiet hum that followed the daily buzz. Below, life continued.

She remained there for long moments, before withdrawing back into her chambers. Outside her prison, the shuffle of feet and thick, heavy coughing reminded her that she was not alone. That she was never alone. Untrusted. It was no surprise, really, after her many failed attempts to flee the confines of this hell. So many efforts, so much planning, only to be dragged back, kicking and screaming, and finally, to be shut up in the tower and placed under constant guard. Ingrate, her parents called her. Did she not see, they often lectured, that she had at her feet an army, a kingdom, a world in which hers were the only demands that needed to be answered?

Yet she despised them all, and spurned her legacy. Trysts with stablehands, depraved bargains with guards to allow her to run, if only for an hours time, beneath the wide open sky... none of her machinations mattered, she was and would always be the heir. The princess. She would always be forced to subjugate her desires for those of policy, politics, and the peasantry, no matter how she railed against her fate. She would always be held to higher standards, forced into a life of bondage from which there was no release.

No longer. Not after tonight.

Crossing to the armoire, she paused before it to run pale fingertips along the intricate wood carvings at the door. Beneath her touch the wardrobe felt cool, smooth, and she opened the door to reveal an array of gowns, her chains that bound her to her station. The ivory one called to her, tripped in deep scarlet, edged with crimson lace and ribbons. It had always been her fathers favorite, and she dutifully removed it, held it against her slender frame.

How many weeks had passed, how many months, since she had last done something worthy of his approval? How many ages since his smiles had been warm and genuine for her? In a brief and fleeting moment of shame, she stepped into the dress, straining arms behind her to tug at the corset bindings, pulling them taut to mold the bodice of the gown to her form.

She had not worn this one in so long, since before her first escape into the forest. They had gone out, her father's huntsmen, on horseback, in the company of dogs, and searched the night for her. The memory of rough hands gripping her arm, her throat, came rushing back with an echo of the shouts of victory, the braying of the horses in response to the commotion, and the barking of the dogs. As she moved to the vanity, her motions causing the fabric of her gown to swish and sway with her, she shivered. Evening settled in around them, around the princess and her memories, while she brushed out her hair and pinned it into place atop her head. Artfully arranged tendrils of auburn silk framed her face, curled against the curve of her jaw. Her final touches were to adorn her ears, her throat, with glittering diamonds, and to place the tiara upon her head, the metal monstrosity that robbed her of all anonymity, and marked her as One Of Them, one of the bound. Never free.

The princess slipped her feet into satin shoes the same deep red as the accents in her dress, and lay upon the bed with a heavy sigh. Outside her door, the guards dropped into a low conversation about weather and livestock, unconcerned with her or her rituals. It would not be known, she knew, till morning, and reached beneath the pillows for the long, thin dagger, and found her release from bondage.

Word Count: 693