Chapter 3: The Unwanted Hero

“I’m here to grant your deepest desire.”

“In return for what?”

“Nothing.”

But in that moment, he knew he could never trust the savage beauty hovering before him. Anything good in this world came after hard work or an equal enough sacrifice. There were no shortcuts. Even the chance gold of luck ended up doing more harm to a man’s soul than if he had worked for it.

And he wasn’t about to trust something as marvelous as the love of his princess to the easy luck of a genie.

***

Absolute silence followed the closing of the carriage door. Kyanna kept her face down. She felt numb, though her mind buzzed with vague images of the celebrations, of which included a tournament, though all she remembered was the crowd cheering and Einar constantly trying to catch her attention. Despite all being allowed to participate on the field, she hadn't seen any sign of her young squire Jeremy. She hadn’t seen him at the feast or at the dance that ensued, where Einar’s hands shook in her palm and around her waist and his elderly grandfather, the current Baron Burkinly, cooed about how lovely she was. Perhaps Jeremy couldn’t handle it: watching her being given away to another without a fight. Of course he couldn’t. It was stupid of her to even wonder.

She ached dully but thought she should be feeling more. She’d crushed both their hearts, hadn’t she? Where was her punishment?

She had to, as memories of Jeremy wouldn’t stop flitting through her: Jeremy smiling, white toothed, twinkle-eyed, and paired by dimples. Jeremy above her, looking as shocked as she by their sudden position. Jeremy whispering to her of running away, of finding a farm, of raising children and living like everyone else. Jeremy admiring her handiwork in patchwork quilts, a secret hobby of hers...

Maybe I’m in shock.

Perhaps shock wasn’t too bad.

Across from her, Einar fidgeted.

“So, I, um…guess we’re married now.”

Something inside her snapped soundly at the sound of his voice.

Trembling, she closed her eyes. Maybe that would give him the hint that she wasn’t interested in talking.

But he kept going, somehow encouraged by the sound of himself.

“Princess, you, I mean, I’ve been wanting to—though it really isn’t my place, though I guess it is now that I’m your husband. That’s…that’s weird to say.”

She clenched her fists. It wouldn’t do to slap him.

“What I mean to ask is, Princess, is…sorry if this is intrusive, but why were you crying? Back there when we were, uh, exchanging vows.”

“I didn’t want to marry you.”

A stunned pause followed.

“Oh. I guess you…you didn’t get much time with me beforehand, after all. I thought it a bit rushed. To-be princes are supposed to get training before marrying, aren’t they? In all the whatnots and to dos in princely-ness and whatnot, heh.”

“If you must know,” said Kyanna, too raw to care, “it’s because I already had someone in mind, and Father was afraid I’d run off with him or something stupid, but I didn’t, so there. I’d rather not talk. This is hard enough as it is.”

She tried to focus on the sound of the carriage wheels as they rolled over rocks or the clip-clopping of the horses’ hooves. Her fingers traced out shapes in the soft velvet of the seat. Jeremy hid with her in an empty carriage like this, once; the first time she’d been close enough to catch his scent.

And there was quiet. For a time.

Einar tugged on the hems of his gold-embroidered coat and bit his lip before asking, with all the care of someone stepping onto a tightrope, “If you wanted someone else, why didn’t you tell your father when he mentioned me?”

“I did. He said no."

“Oh…”

She opened her eyes to give him a cold glare.

“Regret marrying me now?”

“No!” he said quickly—too quickly. “I mean, I would never regret marrying you, Princess, but I am…I can’t stand the idea of…of being the cause of pain for you.” He dropped his eyes to his boots, still peppered with the petals folk tossed into the street as they passed.

His words went over and through her, as though he hadn’t said anything at all, and she went back to tracing in the velvet.

A long time passed where they said nothing. Several times she thought he made a noise to speak, but when she looked, he had his attention elsewhere and the sound had been nothing more than the squeak of a wheel or harness. Through the window curtains, she watched the daylight of her wedding day fade, golden, and then die to the white-silver of moonlight. The aching within her widened till she was sure, any moment, she'd fall in and be consumed, rather than be safe in the soft aching as she was now. She had no plans for when that happened, other than to face it as her father faced the desert tribes: jaw set, shoulders back, and thoughts to the heavens. She couldn’t be more spoiled about this than she already was.

At the half-point, when the coachman brought the carriage to a momentary halt to water the horses, Einar finally spoke.

“Would you like to hear a story? It’s the least I can do for the rough day I’ve caused you. And we have a long way to go…”

His kindness annoyed her. Trying to make the best of it so he could get some action on his wedding night? No one could be this nice for nothing.

Despite her suspicions, Kyanna shrugged. They did have until they reached the honeymoon manor, and neither of them seemed ready to sleep any time soon.

Once he pulled up his legs, crossing them like a child sat on the floor, he began.

“There was once a man who fell deeply in love with a beautiful princess—”

“Oh gods, no.”

“I can start it in a different way! If—if you like? It isn’t some sappy romance, if that’s the problem. I’m not so callous as to tell something like that to you on today of all days.”

Though she didn’t much care, the chasm in her chest wouldn't shrink with three hours of nothing to distract her. Thus, she gave him a disgruntled, “Go on.”

“Okay, different starting, then. Um…the genie. Yeah. Forget the guy for a moment, there was also a genie. Before the genie was, well, a genie, she was an ordinary mortal like you and me, although probably more like you as she was very beautiful.”

If he was expecting her to be flattered, she wasn’t, and it just made her more suspicious about his agenda. But he didn’t wait for her response.

“Most of her life was spent in a brothel. There she was mistreated and used by one man after the other. Like all people, she dreamed of being truly loved for who she was and hoped that someone would save her from the pit she had found herself in. So when a man claimed to love her for her soul and not just for her body and showered her with gifts of respect and affection, she thought the gods had finally answered her prayers."

Something strange started to come over him. As he spoke, his gaze grew distant, and his tone changed to something she would think more fit for a hero, rather than the uncertain, awkward prattle of before. His prose grew smoother with a practiced eloquence she only heard from bards.

“When he finally asked if he could make love to her, she refused, hoping he loved her enough to respect her wishes. Instead, her lover forced himself on her in the filth of an alley where the homeless slept. She died soon afterwards from the wounds of his violence, and on her last breath she vowed vengeance for her dashed hopes. In the afterlife, rather than be accepted by the loved ones she hardly remembered, she swore her soul to the god of suffering and progression in order to be reborn as a temptress genie, bound to a golden bottle with the power to lure men to their destruction. The only rule was that a man had to make a wish on her bottle, which kept her soul tied down to the mortal plane, before she could act. The more wishes men asked of her, the more power she had to destroy them.

“About a hundred or so years later she came out of her golden bottle to find a man unaffected by her beauty. He hadn’t known he had the bottle, as it had been slipped into his bags by a brigand who wished him harm. When the genie offered to grant his wish, he refused her.

‘Oh no,’ he said, ‘I’ve never heard a story where a wish from something magical brings happiness. Besides, I’ll have all I wish once I find Zwen's opal necklace.’ The genie offered to find it for him, but he refused, undaunted by the genie’s seductive spell. Do you know why he was unaffected by the genie’s beauty?”

Kyanna jerked to attention. Without knowing it, she had allowed herself to be lulled into the world of the story.

She shook her head.

“It was because he was so in love with his beautiful princess no other woman could tempt him, no matter their beauty. In fact, the reason he wanted to find this opal necklace was because the princess had vowed to marry him if he could obtain it for her.

“He tried to get rid of the genie by pawning her off to a merchant. But only a day after, the merchant came to an untimely death and the genie fell once more into the young man’s hands. When she rose from her bottle and saw him, she laughed.

‘You can’t get rid of me until you make a wish,’ she said to him. ‘Who knows! Maybe I’ll find your wish worthy enough of good fortune.’

“Time after time he tried to rid himself of the genie, wanting to only find the opal necklace as soon as possible, but every time he did another unfortunate man would either die or find his life far worse than death. Eventually he decided to keep the bottle in order to protect others rather than for himself.

“But the genie was a restless woman. She couldn’t stand being around a man for so long without having the ability to destroy him. Without a wish, she was little more than a ghost, bound to her bottle. Thus, reduced to her wit and charm, she lured him into trap after trap, which he would, in turn, weasel out of each time. Nevertheless, despite the dangers, he never let go of his dream of being with the one he loved. Not once was he tempted to be unfaithful to her, and this irked the genie even more than not being able to destroy him. She could not believe that any man could have such pure intentions. Repeatedly she tempted him with promises of riches, power, and even her own body, desperate to find the fault in his love, but each time he was unfazed. Just as with the traps, he slipped past, unharmed by the genie’s guile.

“By the time he found the opal necklace, he pitied her. He turned to offering her friendship, working to amend the enmity between them. But she insisted to herself that she couldn't believe him. She didn’t have the ability anymore to believe a man could wish only her company.”

Kyanna broke in. “Did she finally believe him when he returned and gave the necklace to the princess? Was she jealous when he married the princess?”

Einar gave her a strange look. He straightened from his leaning position to stretch his back.

“He never did get the necklace to the princess.”

“What!?”

“Why would the genie be jealous?”

“No no no, go back. He doesn’t give her the necklace? You’re telling me he was a lying cheat after all? He gave into her temptation?”

He laughed softly. “Let me finish.”

Kyanna tugged at her sleeves, embarrassed by her outburst. She allowed him to let her make a fool of herself. Turning her face to the side so he wouldn’t see her blush, she gave a low snort.

“I take it you’re liking the story, then?" he asked.

She turned on him, an angry retort ready, but stopped.

Because Einar was smiling a sweet, tender thing that no man who had been through war should be capable of. In that moment, frozen in the path of that smile, she understood why all the women who had seen him had been so excited. Without that smile, he could have passed off as alright looking enough. But with it…

She tucked her chin down and looked away. “You can keep going."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Einar bow his gaze back to the petals stuck to his boots. Even after all this time, he hadn’t bothered to brush them off.

“When the young man found the opal necklace, he could hardly contain his joy. At last he could go home and be with his princess. When he returned to his homeland, however, he came upon the people in great festivity. Though he had been loyal to his princess no matter the circumstances, she had not. The festivities were in honor of her marriage to another, and from where he stood, he could see that she was very happy, happier than he had ever seen her.

“The genie saw this as her chance. She knew the pain that had to be boiling his heart alive and figured he too would now thirst for vengeance. She couldn’t fathom him doing anything else, not after all the trials he had gone through to get the necklace. At long last she would have the means to destroy him.”

“That wicked woman,” cried Kyanna. “Preying on him while he’s down.”

“Isn’t that what happened to her?” Einar lay across the seats and folded his hands over his chest. “And isn’t that just what people do? Take advantage of each other? Now, did you want me to finish or not?”

She pursed her lips but nodded.

“‘You don’t deserve this,’ she said to him, ‘after all you’ve done for her. She could’ve been happy with you too, you know. She still could. She may just think you are dead. Give me the necklace, wish me free, and I will return it to her. She will regret her decision and come to you. She will not be so quick to doubt you ever again.’

“But the young man, after giving one more look at the loving couple, turned around and left. The genie kept voicing newer and more innocent wishes: offering to make him a prince to challenge the Princess’s new husband to mortal combat, forcing her love to change. When those didn’t work, her offers became less innocent, even offering to kill the Princess's new husband. When they were finally alone and she was allowed out of her bottle, he did agree to make a wish. The genie was not as delighted as she thought she would be, but she readied herself. The young man opened his mouth and said…

“’I wish that the princess will be happy, that she’ll have beautiful, healthy children, and that her husband will love her all the days of her life.’”

Einar glanced back over at Kyanna at this point, who lounged across the seat in her piles of wedding skirt. She yawned behind her hand but kept her eyes on him.

Outside, a horse whinnied “The genie was caught off guard, yet not surprised. She had been half expecting this. Till the very end, until the princess had chosen someone else, he had been faithful. ‘Do you at least want me to return the necklace?’ she asked him. ‘No.’ he said. ‘Let her believe I died. She will be happier that way.’”

Kyanna waited for him to continue, but Einar said nothing more. Having grown sleepy, her patience wasn’t as strong as it could’ve been.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well what?”

“What happens? Does the genie answer his wish? Do they get together? The genie and him.”

“Get together?” he wrinkled his nose. “Why in the world would they do that?”

Kyanna rolled her chin around in exasperation. “Don’t you know how to tell a good romance?”

“What? Does every beautiful girl and handsome man together for too long have to end up as a couple?”

“Unless they aren’t permanently connected and one of them isn’t a complete lunatic, yes! Why not?”

“That is the strangest rule I’ve ever heard. I wonder if that works in real life.”

“Of course not, it’s just in the stories.”

“Oh…well, no. They don’t get together. But he proved to her that there was at least one good man in the world.”

“Do you mean she fulfilled his wish as he asked rather than destroying him?”

He nodded. “Yep. Every wit. And then she stayed and served him all the days of his life. Or, at least, that's the edited version. The Soan who first told it to me said something…a little more unsavory.”

“Another reason why they should’ve ended up together! Are you positive they didn’t, you know, fall in love?”

He chuckled. “Oh, Princess.”

“What?”

“I told you this wasn’t a romance, but apparently you’ve changed your mind about wanting one.”

Grumbling a bit, she flipped onto her side away from him, kicking through her thick wedding skirt. Einar must’ve taken her movements as a sign that she didn’t want to talk anymore, for he didn’t speak the rest of the ride, allowing her to drift into a light doze to the gentle rocking of the carriage. Jeremy flitted in and out of half-formed dreams before the conscious part of her mind could decide whether to push him out or embrace him.

Crickets played, and the air felt moist and cool, though she didn't remember going outside. Servants talked quietly to themselves as they unloaded the horses and carriage.

Blinking awake, she noticed Einar smiling down at her, a gray sky behind him. It was then that she registered his arms beneath her.

“You can go back to sleep.”

Alarm spiked through her like a static shock “What the hell are you doing?!” she cried.

Einar’s face fell and several servants stopped to stare at the two before rushing to cover up their surprise.

“I’m…I’m carrying you to the house.”

“Put me down!”

“Oh, but—but don’t you want to at least be carried over the threshold? You know…tradition?”

Her face flushed as she squirmed out of his arms, fighting her way through yards of white fabric on the way. She then proceeded to stomp across the lawn to where the silhouette of a minor, yet still very large, manor stood. She could hear the others following her—servants and most likely Einar—but she didn’t care. The crazy urge to slip off her slippers and tear off into the night fought for control. As she looked up at the manor, knowing somewhere inside was the honeymoon suite where she would have to face Einar, her new husband, her protective, gentle ache began to melt, and the chasm gaped ever wider.

She hiked up her skirts and sped up. She couldn’t let herself be seen once that numbness was gone. She’d already embarrassed herself and everyone else enough.

A young maid ran ahead of her to unlock the door and light the lamps. Kyanna rode her tail, desperate to stay ahead of Einar.

“This way, your Highness.”

Up a grand staircase, down a carpeted hall, twisting, turning, until finally she found herself in a large bedroom lit only by moonlight from the open windows. As the maid busied herself with the fire and closing the curtains, Einar came in, followed by men carrying their trunks, which they placed in the corner of the room. Almost as soon as they came, they left, leaving the two newlyweds alone. Kyanna was struck by the notion they thought themselves fleeing the long-awaited passion of newlyweds.

The second would-be participant of said 'passion' stood before her, backlit by the flames in the fireplace. The awkward silence that had traveled with them had followed into the room like a bad smell. Einar held his hands together behind his back, then moved them to scratch the back of his head.

“Do…do you want some help getting out of that gown?” he asked. At the flaring up of heat in her face, he blanched. “I-I didn’t mean anything like that! I only though, I mean, I presumed that dress has a lot of buttons or ties you can’t reach. Being a princess, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were required to have a complicated gown, and, well…” his face turned a deep shade of maroon to rival hers. “I am your husband. I’m bound to see your underwear eventually.”

Kyanna clenched her skirts so tight, her knuckles popped. She couldn't believe how much fear that one sentence instilled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she growled. “If you’re aiming to get something—“

“No! No! I would never—it’s only what you want to do, I just thought—“

“You’re not coming near me, you understand? I don’t want you laying a finger on me!”

“Of course, Princess.” He even bowed, forgetting that he was now a prince.

She stomped to her trunks. “And go away! I don’t want to be near you.”

“Uh, Princess, I don’t know if that would be wise…”

With her defenses already beginning to crumble and the magnitude of what she had done that day starting to sink in, mixed with the thrill of fear at being alone with a strange man, she lost all her patience.

“Wise! This isn’t a matter of propriety, Hero. This is a matter of there being an unwanted person in my bedroom and I want to be alone! Is that so much to ask?”

Einar looked up at her, eyes wan and hands folded as though in prayer.

“Of course not, Princess. I was just thinking of the servants and your father. I doubt they’d want to know how our, um…intimacy is doing. If I sleep outside…”

The word ‘intimacy’ made her cringe. The thought that now they were expected to do that gave her all sorts of nasty shivers.

She wanted to say, 'So what?' She was dying to, but even as it rose to the tip of her tongue, memories of stories came with it: of her mother and father's drinks being spiced by strong wine or stronger mead under the command of the king until drunk, then locked in their bedroom. It was called a honeymoon for a reason, and there always had to be backups for arranged marriages.

But her father wouldn't do such a thing…right?

Who was she kidding?

"What do you suggest we do then?" she asked. "Because I am not letting you come near my bed no matter what anyone says.”

“I can sleep on the couch,” he gestured to the red velvet sofa next to the fire. “I promise, if you don’t want me to, I won’t touch you.”

She glared at him, then at the couch. But she had little time to debate. She could feel the dreadful darkness welling up within her. A shrill voice in the back of her mind began to sing a bitter lamentation. Clenching her jaw in frustration, as well as to hold back the growing stone in her throat, she spat out a reluctant ‘fine’ and turned to pull out her nightgown from her trunk. After she pulled it out and threw it over the lid, she proceeded to scrape along her back to undo buttons. Tears welled up in her eyes as she came to realize the truth of his words concerning her dress.

Einar cleared his throat quietly.

“If you want," he said, "I can just unbutton it and turn away. I won’t look.”

“Why are you trying to be so helpful? Unlikely you won’t look.” Already her voice had begun to tremble.

“Do you trust me so little?”

“Yes.” Panic made it nigh impossible to think rationally about it.

He fell quiet. After her arms began to ache and the tears dripped down her chin onto the shiny silk, she found herself too humiliated to call a maid. What would they think of her? In tears in her honeymoon suite on her wedding night, asking help to get out of her dress while her new husband stood there and watched?

Her shame, at least, calmed her growing hysteria.

“Hero…” She wanted to scream when his name came out a sob.

“Yes?”

She screwed up her face and threw her fists down. “Fine. But don’t you dare look!”

He said nothing as his fingers tugged down her back. The bodice of the dress slowly began to loosen itself. The cloth shimmered in the firelight through her tears.

What would happen to her? Where was Jeremy?

“There. I’ll turn around now.”

Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, she grabbed her nightgown and peeked over her shoulder. Einar was indeed facing the opposite direction—and taking off his clothes.

Hysteria returned.

“What are you doing?!”

He paused halfway through taking off his undershirt. He moved as though to turn but quickly remembered his promise and kept his gaze on the opposite wall.

“I’m getting ready for bed. You didn’t expect me to go to sleep in my wedding clothes, did you? That tunic feels like it’s made of horsehair.”

“Keh!” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. In the end, he was her husband. But the thought just made her more upset. She stepped out of the wedding dress and into her nightgown.

“May I turn around now, Princess?”

But she was already digging under the covers of the large four poster bed, hiccupping on choked breaths. The welcoming softness made her cry harder, and she muffled her sobs into the pillow. Her clunky wedding pendant jabbed against her chest, and the antique chain pulled on her neck. He had horrible taste in jewelry. She hadn’t even been able to open the stupid thing.

This had to be the worst wedding night anyone could ask for. It wasn’t romantic at all, and how could it be? The man she wanted most wasn’t here. And how did she know that Einar wasn’t going to sneak into her bed in the middle of the night and take advantage of her, promise or not?

And how well she kept her duty didn't matter here, as long as she kept it. But did that mean that every thought of Jeremy was now a kind of secret adultery? Even if he came before the wedding?

“Princess?”

Einer's fingertips touched the top of her head as gently as raindrops.

“Kyanna…”

“Don’t touch me!”

His touch vanished.