by Aya Ling
There’s a knock on the door. Someone is asking if everything’s all right.
“Just a moment,” the man calls. Then, to me, he lowers his voice. “Until we find the cause of your extraordinary return, you must know my name is Edward. I am the prince of Athelia, and as my bride, you are now the princess of Athelia.”
3
This is freaking insane.
PRINCESS? Me? I suddenly wake up and find myself accidentally married, and a princess on top of that?
Ridiculous. Outrageous. Impossible. I’d sooner believe I won the lottery.
The term Athelia sounds familiar, though. Just when I am struggling to figure out what I should do, the door opens again. This time, a young woman enters, carrying a bulky sack.
“Your Highness.” She dips a brief curtsy, then sets the sack on the cot. A flash of amazement appears in her eyes, but it’s gone in a second. “Would you please step out of that . . . that atrocious apparel and get properly dressed?”
I gape at her. “Me?” I point at myself. “You’re addressing me as ‘Highness’?”
She raises her eyebrows. “Or would you prefer ‘Her Royal Highness of Athelia’?”
I roll my eyes. “Royal Highness, my ass. And I have no idea what Athelia . . .”
Athelia. A name that is familiar—the name of a country, I think. But where did I hear about it?
While I’m musing, the girl steps forward and yanks off my slip. Before I can yell sexual harassment, she has slipped a creamy white top over my head. Actually, it’s more like a smock that artists use. It goes way past my thighs, barely covering my knees. But it’s more high-class than a smock—the material is pure silk, smooth and cool, sliding over my body like a waterfall.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
She ignores my protest. “Raise your arms. Now.”
From the sack, the girl draws out an item that looks suspiciously similar to a corset and wraps it around me. It feels like a giant’s hand squeezing my ribs to the point of bruising.
“Oy!” I tug the ribbons on my back, trying to rip them off. “You’re suffocating me.”
A second later, I can feel my lungs inflate. Immediately, I take a deep breath and exhale. Thank God. The air has never felt sweeter.
And before I can stop to wonder why I’m wearing a corset instead of a bra, something heavy is slipped over my head. There’s a light thud of fabric hitting the floor. I look down.
Oh, my God. I’m wearing a gorgeous white gown embroidered with golden threads and rose-pink pearls. The girl weaves a wide silken scarf around my waist, twice, which makes me look slenderer than I really am, ties a knot at my hips, and lets the rest cascade down my side like a shimmering mist.
Wow, this is super elegant. I don’t dare to move, lest I trip or something. I’ve gotten over my stupid clumsiness, but sometimes, on occasions like this, the awkwardness resurfaces.
But it isn’t over yet. The girl brings out a glittering object that looks like a diamond tiara, the kind you only see in movies, and places it firmly on my head.
“Wait . . . what?”
Another knock on the door. The girl opens a crack and says something in a low voice. Then she stashes my slip in the sack she brought and slips out the door.
Hollywood Guy steps in, a serious, urgent look on his face.
“We shall depart for our honeymoon in a few minutes. There will be a carriage ride through the city, which will last approximately an hour, until we reach the railway station. I shall need you to wave and smile at the crowds that are already gathered along the streets.”
Honeymoon! And a carriage ride? Have I suddenly switched places with some actress by a random mistake?
“But I . . .”
He seems to have anticipated my confusion, for he holds up a hand, motioning that I should listen to him first.
“No doubt, you have many questions, as do I, but save them until we are alone. For now, it is imperative that you act like nothing has happened. Pretend that your memory is intact, or there will be great trouble.”
I stare at him, mouth agape. “Why? What’s going on?”
Hollywood Guy holds out his hand. I hesitate for a second, but I take it. I don’t know what’s come over me. Those gorgeous golden-brown eyes are hypnotizing.
“Trust me.”
* * *
The bright light streaming in from the tall, arched windows blinds me when we re-enter the cathedral. Guests, attired in period costumes that look straight out of a movie set, gawk at us. Hollywood Guy leads me to a raised dais, where there are two people wearing long, fancy robes embroidered in gold and silver.
My eyes bulge. The crowns they are wearing look so real—intricate designs of gold inlaid with rubies and pearls, with bits of purple velvet peaking between the arches. This film set sure has some serious financial backing.
The woman playing the queen comes forward, her gaze filled with concern. “Katriona, are you all right?”
It looks like she is referring to me.
“Excuse me, but I think you have it wron—ow!” Hollywood Guy squeezes my arm so hard that tears spring in my eyes.
“It seemed that nervousness, combined with the suffocation of the layers of clothing, have contributed to her unfortunate loss of consciousness.” Hollywood Guy keeps an iron grip on my arm no matter how many daggers I glare at him. “However, with a change of clothes and a drink of water, she has fully recovered. There is nothing to worry about.”
Like hell there isn’t! But with so many people staring at us, I’m reluctant to make a scene.
“I suggest that the sooner you leave for Enrilth, the better,” says the man who’s acting as king. He really is an impressive actor. The way he carries himself—chin raised, gaze firm, and a voice that resounds with authority—probably, few people dare to defy him even in real life. “Edward, see that your wife has an early rest. You still have a long journey ahead.”
Wife? They must be crazy—they all are. “I’m not—”
“My thoughts exactly.” Hollywood Guy—I mean, Edward—strokes the underside of my arm in a loving caress. “Besides, it will not do to keep the train waiting. Come, Kat.”
Kat. He says my name with such ease and comfort that it’s difficult to believe that we’re mere acquaintances. To call me with such familiarity, to touch me with such audacity—it’s more like he is an ex-boyfriend that somehow, I’ve completely no recollection of. Or maybe he is simply an extremely accomplished actor. Even though he told me to trust him, I’m not convinced.
There isn’t any time to dwell upon my doubts, for he is striding toward the exit. An arched doorway opens to a glorious cornflower-blue sky, dotted with fluffy clouds. Since I’m as good as handcuffed to him, I’ve no choice but to follow him. Plus, once we leave this amazingly big-budget film set, I’ll have a better chance to slip away and find someone who might be able to help me.
It’s dreadfully difficult to walk briskly in this magnificent gown, however. I do my best not to trip up, but once I make it to the exit and get a good look at what’s outside, I completely forget about my step. I tread on the gown and pitch forward.
“Kat!”
Strong arms wrap around my waist, preventing my fall, and a clean, masculine scent of freshly washed linen and soap surrounds me. Another time, I might be elated that a super-hot guy has his arms around me. But my mind is too overwhelmed to think of anything romantic.
What is this place?
Stretching ahead is a flight of steps carpeted in red velvet. On the foot of the stairs stands the most magnificent carriage I have ever seen, with ornate golden trappings and tall white stallions, complete with footmen, coachmen and the driver, making me feel like I’m in a Cinderella movie. But what really shocks me is the wide road stretching ahead and packed with people on either side. From where I’m standing, I figure there have to be hundreds at least, and that is only what I can see so far. I thought that the guests in the cathedral were pretty impressive, bu
t all these people outside who seem to be waiting for us . . . there are too many of them to be plausible for a film set. They look . . . real. Too real to be filming for a Hollywood movie.
When the first few people in the crowds see us, a shout rings out in the air: “Long live Prince Edward! Long live Princess Katriona!” The others take up the chant, followed by a smattering of applause.
I look up at the prince, who is smiling and waving at the crowd.
“I don’t believe this. This can’t be real.”
He raises one perfect eyebrow. “Of course it is. Look, there is a camera.”
I don’t see any around, but suddenly, a flash goes off. “Did someone just take our picture?”
This is insane. But he just smiles and pats my arm. “Don’t worry, Kat. It is typical for the press to snap a few pictures for the morning paper.”
And then he takes my hand and starts down the stairs. Numbly, I stumble along with him, numerous questions swimming in my mind. I look around wildly, but nothing, absolutely nothing, seems to resemble anything I’ve experienced before.
The buildings are too old-fashioned—yellow or brown, with arched windows and turrets—something that looks straight from a historic European town. There isn’t a single car, nor any traffic lights in sight. And the crowds that are lined up along the main road ahead, held behind wooden barriers and waving flags and banners, are all dressed in historic costumes. The men wear either top hats or caps, while the women are in large skirts and shawls. Some women also wear hats wreathed in flowers or decorated with feathers. None of the women wear pants or shorts. Even though it’s warm enough that I don’t feel chilly in my short-sleeved dress, not a single woman is showing any skin below the waist. It’s like shorts and mini-skirts don’t exist.
Oh, my God. That episode of Outlander must have come true for me. I’ve tumbled through time and ended up in some historical period in Scotland. Only it looks more fancy and royal.
“Kat.” Edward squeezes my hand. “Our carriage is waiting.”
The carriage is in fact an open-air vehicle that lacks a roof, with luxurious crimson velvet seats, a gold-rimmed door, and stallions that pull the carriage with matching crimson puffs on their heads. Surrounded by a legion of liveried soldiers and several coachmen, it’s just like the procession seen in Prince William and Kate’s wedding.
“Oh, my.” I bite down on my lip and feel pain. “I can’t get on that thing.”
An urgent look flashes in his eyes. “We must. The people are waiting. It’s part of the tradition.”
“To sit and be gawked at, like an exhibit in a museum?”
He makes a choked noise, like he’s suppressing a laugh. “Worry not, for there are two of us. Now, if you will not walk on your own, I shall forcefully carry you to the carriage and throw you in, whether you like it or not.”
Annoyed at his imperious tone, I glare at him. “This playacting had better end soon, because no way am I marrying you for real.”
“When you recover your memory, I doubt you shall maintain the same resolve.” He lowers his voice to a whisper, and a wicked gleam flares in his eyes. “More than once, you told me that there was nowhere you’d rather be than in my arms.”
“I don’t know what kind of lovesick fool you’re talking about, but that is not me.” Still, my traitorous mind conjures up an image of me snuggled against that broad chest of his, and I’m sure a blush has crept into my cheeks.
When we approach the carriage, a man dressed in a splendid crimson tunic and golden brocade takes off a plumed hat and bows to me.
“Your Highness.” He offers a large, meaty hand. I glance at the carriage seat, which has an alarmingly high foothold situated at the height of my waist. Considering the awfully fancy and binding gown I’m wearing, I am forced to admit that I need the help.
I put my hand on his palm, take a deep breath, lift my skirts out of the way, and step on the foothold. The next second, the prince takes my other hand and eases me into the seat.
“Allow me,” he says in an amused tone, and promptly straightens the tiara on my head. Before he pulls away, he whispers, “Relax, Kat. Just smile and wave at our people, and soon, we’ll be on the train.”
Our people? Since when did I acquire . . .
“It’s the princess!” A little girl cries out, pointing a chubby finger in my direction. She’s sitting on her father’s shoulders. “I can see her, Papa! It’s Princess Katriona!”
Without thinking, I wave to her, which elicits a surprised gurgle of laughter. “She saw me, Papa! The princess saw me!”
A whistle blows shrilly, and then we’re off. Jolted by the sudden start of the carriage, I unceremoniously fall back against the seat with an “oomph!”
Fortunately, only the takeoff is so jarring. The road we’re traveling on is well-paved and smooth, even though it isn’t asphalt. Plus, the carriage is sturdy and heavy, and the thick padded seats are a balm to the bum. Because of this, I’m able to follow Edward’s example, convince myself that I’m a huge royal celebrity, and keep smiling and waving like a mannequin, even when my lips become dry and chapped and my arm feels like it’s going to fall off.
“Here they come!”
“Look, there’s the prince and his new bride!”
Not all reactions from the onlookers are positive, though. One middle-aged guy, a cigar in his mouth, stares at me with a mixture of scorn and disappointment.
“That is the princess? I thought she’d be more . . .”
A loud hushing sound drowns out the rest of his sentence. I sneak a surreptitious glance at the prince. It’s a bit deflating to the ego, but yeah, I have to admit that if looks were the only thing considered, he could do better. I can be pretty when I have the right makeup and hairstyle, but I know that I’m a far cry from beauty queen material.
Why did they pick me? As if hearing my thoughts, Edward reaches out and squeezes my hand for a quick second, like he’s reassuring me that nothing is wrong and everyone else other than him is blind.
The carriage goes on for some time. I wish I had my watch on, but unfortunately, I left it at Jason’s apartment. I couldn't be bothered to wear the watch after a shower.
“How much longer is this going to take?” I whisper. He barely hears me, though I can’t blame him. The noise from the crowds, plus the trumpets blaring from the procession that follows our carriage, make it difficult to communicate without shouting.
I sit back, resigned, and resume the nodding and smiling and waving. Finally, when I think that my arms can’t take it anymore, the carriage makes a turn toward a large building about three stories high, with a tower-like structure in the middle and an old-fashioned clock hanging on it.
“Are we there? The train station, I mean.”
He nods, and a cloud of apprehension seems to fall over his face. “Remember, Kat. Act like everything is normal.” He surprises me by taking hold of my chin and lifting it. “There. You are now the princess of Athelia. You bow to no one.”
The carriage stops. Edward helps me get down and, like he’s escorting me to the prom, he holds out his arm. After a moment’s hesitation, I place my fingers on his sleeve. After all, I have no idea which direction to go. Better wait till I can find a cellphone or something.
The train station looks rather similar to Grand Central Terminal in New York, all golden and grand. But there isn’t much time to admire its beauty. Edward leads me directly to the platform, where a huge retro-looking train is waiting. It’s navy blue with a white roof, and silver letters and flowers are painted on the carriage. Plumes of smoke rise from its top.
It is then that a sinking feeling enters my stomach—from the moment I woke up in that hospital-like room, I have yet to detect a trace of modern technology. I got decent grades in geography in high school, but even I can’t figure out which country I could be in. So far, it looks like some European country, but I’m sure that even the most underdeveloped areas would have a car.
Edward leads me to the
train. A conductor is shouting, “All aboard!” I look back once, wondering how many people are getting on the train, but it seems that apart from us, there are only about a dozen more passengers, who actually look more like attendants. There’s the huge guy who helped me into the carriage, following a pretty young woman who happens to be the same person who helped me dress. She’s walking in the brisk, firm steps of a businesswoman. Were she in modern attire, I’d expect her to wear oblong spectacles and black heels.
“Where are we going?” I ask faintly. At this point, I’ll believe anything.
“Wait until we get there.” As he pats my hand, a look of alarm crosses his features. “Where is your ring?”
“What ring?”
“Why, your wedding ring, of course.” He raises his hand, where an expensive-looking diamond ring glitters on his finger.
“I never saw any ring. I swear.”
He stares at me, looking deeply into my eyes, like he’s trying to ascertain if I’m telling the truth.
“Amelie.”
The young businesslike woman appears. “Is everything all right, Your Highness?”
“I need a pen and paper,” Edward says. “Normally, I’d have some on me, but I can’t carry much in these wedding garments.”
The young woman whips out a fountain pen and a small notebook from a handbag, her movements so nimble it almost seems she made the stationary appear out of thin air.
Edward writes on the notebook, tears off a page, and hands it to the woman. “Have it sent to the jeweler’s straight away. Kat lost her ring. I want it replaced immediately upon our return.”
She doesn’t even blink or look surprised. “Certainly, Your Highness.”
“Is she your secretary?” I ask.
“Amelie is your personal maid.” He pauses for a second. “While she is not fully cognizant of your memory loss, if you fail to remember a person or event and I am not with you, you may confide in her. Her family has served us for generations, and from my experience, she has never been anything but loyal and trustworthy. Now, let us embark on our honeymoon.”
