Lone Blind Star - Chapter 1: Opportunity and Decision
A learned princess meets an infamous, cowboy-styled thief.
She clutched the morning newspaper to her chest and sighed dreamily as she leaned back on her chaise. A fantasy had taken hold in her mind where she ran away together with the gentleman thief from the paper.
The door to her bedroom parlour swung open and one of her maids, Dahlia, came to retrieve the breakfast cart. When she saw her princess swooning yet again over the morning paper she couldn't help but sigh. "Again, Lady Stella-Cecilia?"
The princess sat up. "What do you mean again? It's not every day that a roguish gentleman visits the capital."
The maid cleaned up the breakfast table as she spoke, her short black hair blowing in the breeze from the window. "You do know roguish and gentleman are opposites?"
The princess thought a moment. "There are many sides to a person," she replied, earning herself a look of exasperation from her maid.
"Lady Stella-Cecilia, you're really into this cowboy thief despite knowing nothing about him. Your coming of age ceremony is next month—isn't there anyone else that's caught your eye? Particularly within the upper nobility?"
The princess sighed. She'd been over this. "No," she said with finality.
"You could have any gentleman in the nation and yet, in all your twenty years, the only one you fancy is a common thief."
"Have you seen the young men at court? Either eyes on the crown or eyes on my body."
"As Crown Princess you do have a responsibility to pick the next king."
"I wasn't raised for that!" she whined. "It's not my fault Uncle Kolle passed the crown to my father."
"I never said it was your fault, Your Royal Highness."
"No, but you said it like my responsibility is my fault."
"Responsibility is independent of its origin, whether innate or granted. You're the previous king's only grandchild. The royal line would have always continued with you."
The princess sighed and put the newspaper down on the coffee table. "I've had enough. I'm not talking about this again," she said and stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She leaped onto her large bed and groaned into her mountain of pillows.
Guards shouting through the halls woke her up. A wet chill blew across her face and she wiped the drool that had pooled there. A door in the hallway slammed shut, echoing into her room. She made her way to the hallway door and peeked her head out, drawing some ire from the guards.
"Your Royal Highness, please go back into your room," one of the guards said.
She noticed her personal knights were missing and inquired about their whereabouts. "Where are Ser Claude and Ser Anjali?"
"They're securing the perimeter with the other Rose Knights as we speak. Now please go back into your room, Lady Stella-Cecilia."
"Wait, wait, wait—did something happen?"
The guard was reluctant to answer but relented to the princess' pleading face. "That thief with the cowboy hat has infiltrated the palace. Palace Knight Captain Ezra believes he's after the crown jewels, but we're locking everything down in case he's come to assassinate a royal."
"Cowboy..?" she repeated and then it dawned on her. "My roguish gentleman has come to the palace! I must see him!"
The guard frowned. "In case you've forgotten, you are a royal, Lady Stella-Cecilia."
"I think you're all overreacting. At all his thefts, he hasn't killed a single person."
"Maybe not but he's certainly maimed a fair number. There are fates worse than death."
At that moment, Ser Claude and Ser Anjali stormed down the hall. "Why isn't Her Royal Highness in her room!" Ser Claude yelled. He was a tall man with amethyst eyes and maroon-colored hair that curled around his ears. As the Second-in-Command of the Rose Knights, he was completely dedicated to his duties. In full armor with a grumpy demeanor and a short temper, he could be quite intimidating.
The nameless palace guard shrugged his shoulders and stepped back. Ser Anjali gently rested her hand on the door and gazed at the princess with a soft, endearing expression. "Cecilia, you know procedure," she said. Ser Anjali, Knight Captain of the Rose Knights, was the only non-royal to address the princess by name. She was almost as tall as Ser Claude with dark hair, dark skin, and gorgeous swirls in her eyes.
"Please, Angie," the princess pleaded. She wanted to see the thief of her dreams.
"How about this? If we manage to capture him, I will personally take you to see him. Me and Ser Claude."
"Wha—Ser Anjali! To let the crown princess even breathe the same air as that ruffian would be—"
"That's enough, Ser Claude. Are we not Her Royal Highness' Rose Knights?"
Ser Claude shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Of course we are."
"Then, should we not do our utmost to fulfill our princess' wishes?"
He crossed his arms and huffed. He didn't have a counter argument so he made a disgruntled sound of agreement and left. Ser Anjali turned to the princess, grinning triumphantly. The knight's suggestion was too good for the princess to refuse.
"Okay," she groaned. The princess pursed her lips and withdrew into her chambers. She bolted the door behind her and stared out the windows at the afternoon sky. On a nice day like this, she could have gone horseback riding or maybe a bit of training in the yard. She heaved a great sigh before plopping herself down at her desk facing the largest window. It wasn’t as good as her private study but there was enough material to work on so she put on a record and started translating a crumbling book.
Despite her efforts to promote herself, few knew the crown princess translated ancient texts. Her father and grandfather opposed the princess working as a translator so they threatened publishers to ban her work as a way to discourage her. To get around the ban, the princess snuck texts in and out of the palace with help from her favorite maid, Fiona, and publish under a pseudonym in a different country.
She was halfway though translating a magical record when the princess heard something strange. Noise outside the hallway door, silence, and then more noise followed by grunting. Grunting? she thought and rushed to the door. She flinched as a loud thud hit the door seconds before her hand touched the deadbolt. "Hello?" she ventured but heard nothing from the other side. She hesitated a second before opening the door.
The princess peeked her head out one door and saw, leaning with one arm on the wall, her thief.
His face was flush and drops of sweat dripped off his nose. He clutched at the growing red stain on his side as he grinned at her. "Hey, sweetheart." He spoke with difficulty, grimacing and grunting. "Ya gonna call those... knights of yours?"
Her eyes scanned the empty hall and spotted a single blood trail leading to her door. Without saying a word she wrapped an arm around her thief and ushered him inside, setting him on her chaise. She grabbed the medkit and a sponge from the bathroom, returning to find him at her desk. Blood dripped onto the marble tiles as his glazed eyes stared up at the sky. That was the moment she knew the situation to be more dire than she thought. She heard her heart beat in her ears as she kneeled down next to him and peeled back his clothes.
"Hey, hey, sweetheart—I don't think now's the time," he said as playfully as he could manage. His voice was weak.
She hissed at him to be quiet and peeled back his coat, tossing it aside. She opened his vest and pulled his shirt up to reveal an oozing gash in his side. It was worse than she thought.
"More than your little kit there can handle, huh?" he said with a smile.
She swallowed the panic rising in her throat and looked him in the eyes as best she could. "Nothing I can't handle."
His breath hitched. "Ya don't sound convincin'."
"I just—uhh, don't know any healing magic. I can do the next best thing, but it'll hurt like a bitch."
He couldn’t stop himself from laughing. "Foul mouth on you, huh? Got any liquor?" He took a deep breath. "And uh… somethin' to bite on?"
"One sec." She rushed up, grabbing the gin from off her bedside table and a calligraphy brush off her bookshelf, and handed them to him. He took a couple gulps of gin before pouring it over his wound, hissing as he did so. The air stank of juniper and blood—sharp and metallic. He placed the brush between his teeth and readied his grip on the desk. He looked her in the eye and gave a subtle nod, signalling that he was ready.
She held her breath as she cut her thumb and smeared her blood along his wound. She placed her palms on either side of the wound and recited a few words in that ancient arcane language, her words diffusing into the air. Like a fuse catching fire, her trail of blood lit up in sparks. Her thief bit down on the brush, growling through his teeth as his wound burned shut.
They were silent for a while, letting what just happened sink in. Eventually he let the brush fall to the floor with a clatter. She looked up at him, startled.
"You okay?" she asked.
He reached down and brushed the sweaty strands of white hair from her face. "Sunshine," he breathed, staring into her golden eyes, "you're beautiful." He passed out as soon as the words left his lips. She caught him and, calming her fluttering heart, dragged him over to her bed.
She had just finished wiping the blood off him when she heard a voice followed by some gentle knocking. "Lady Stella-Cecilia? We heard a noise. Are you all right?" It was her maid, Fiona, through the servant door.
The princess sprinted back into the parlour. She leaped over her thief's bloody clothes and leaned against the servant door. "I'm all right Fiona! Is Dahlia there with you?"
A short pause. She heard some whispering. "Yes, Dahlia is here. Is there something you need, Lady Stella-Cecilia?"
"No, I was just checking. Uh, don't worry about the noise. I was doing some exercise and accidentally knocked some things over."
"Did you try using your parasol as a sword again? I know we're all holed up in our rooms but honestly..." She heard Dahlia sigh. "Do you want us to come and tidy up?"
She looked around the bloody parlour room with a frantic look in her eye. "Uhh, nope! Don't worry! I can take care of it. Hehe! We're in lockdown after all! I'll be keeping my side bolted shut!" She tried to sound as cheery and convincing as she could but worried she just sounded stir crazy. "By the way, what're you two doing over there?"
"We're reading," Fiona replied.
"Oh, reading! Sounds like a wonderful time. Well then, I'll leave you two to it!" She hurried around the room, gathering up her thief's clothes as she went and dropping them off in the washroom. After that, she wetted half a towel and snuck out into the—for some reason—still empty hallway to clean up the bloodtrail. She didn't want anyone to know what she was up to. Satisfied with her handiwork, she returned to her chaise and laid back, finally allowing herself to relax. She glanced up at the clock on the mantlepiece—only half an hour had passed from when she rescued her thief. She swept her legs up onto the chaise and, eyeing the bloody clothes peeking out from the bathroom, let herself fall asleep.
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