Anne

The day destined for our journey to Elderwood arrived swiftly. Amidst the hustle and bustle of the impending departure, my time was consumed with assisting Marilyn in her wedding preparations. The air was charged with anticipation and joy, yet a subtle undercurrent of unspoken tension lingered, a residue of my unresolved conversation with Elliot in the garden.

In the passing week, a palpable distance had grown between us. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air, and our interactions were reduced to the perfunctory. Elliot, bound by duty, accompanied me when I ventured out, a silent presence that spoke volumes of the strained atmosphere between us. I would inquire hesitantly if I could go about unaccompanied, a feeble attempt to reclaim a semblance of autonomy. However, his responses were apologetic, a reflection of his unwavering dedication to his duty and a poignant reminder of the constraints that governed my every move.

One day, frustration welled within me, and I implored him, "My father doesn't have to know, Elliot." His regretful response, delivered with a sense of inevitability, pierced through the air, "I can't risk it, Your Highness, my apologies." It was a stark acknowledgment of the boundaries that confined me, leaving me with no choice but to relent. I ceased my futile attempts to break free and allowed him to accompany me wherever my footsteps led.

The silent echoes of our unspoken tension reverberated in the air as the day of departure loomed, underscoring the complex tapestry of emotions woven into the fabric of our interactions.

In public, a subtle shift in Elliot's demeanor was palpable. No longer did he walk a respectful step behind, his usual position, instead, he now strode beside me. The change was nuanced, yet it carried the weight of unspoken understanding, a tacit acknowledgment of the delicate nature of our circumstances. His restraint extended even to physical contact – a deliberate avoidance of unnecessary touches. When the need arose, a fleeting, feathery touch on my back was the extent of our physical connection, his hands always curled into a protective fist, as if to contain the unspoken tensions that simmered beneath the surface.

As the impending week loomed, apprehension settled within me like a storm gathering on the horizon. We were to share a bedroom, an intimate space that would become the stage for our daily charade, where we would have to masquerade as husband and wife, not just during the day but through the silent, vulnerable hours of the night. The prospect left an uneasy knot in my stomach, a mix of uncertainty and trepidation.

I just hope nothing bad happens, the silent plea echoed in my thoughts, a desperate wish that the coming week would pass without incident. The uncharted territory of our feigned intimacy held the potential for unforeseen complications, and the unknown cast a shadow over the days that lay ahead. The delicate dance of emotions and expectations unfolded as we embarked on this journey, each step laden with the unspoken weight of what could transpire in the confines of our shared space.

Stepping out of the manor, I was met with the sight of a carriage awaiting Elliot and me, ready to transport us to the town of Elderwood. Marilyn, in her characteristic insistence, had sent a special carriage for our journey, despite my attempts to dissuade her. Gratitude and a touch of exasperation mingled within me, appreciative of her concern yet slightly overwhelmed by the added attention.

A sense of relief washed over me as the realization dawned that Elliot and I would be alone during the carriage ride to Elderwood. The absence of prying eyes meant we could momentarily shed the pretense of a married couple and navigate the journey without the weight of societal expectations.

The house help had efficiently arranged our bags within the carriage, and as I made my way outside, I found Elliot diligently tending to the final details. Dressed in a black shirt and beige trousers, he exuded a quiet strength, a stark contrast to the turmoil of emotions swirling beneath the surface. His smoothed-back hair hinted at a recent haircut, a change that suited him remarkably well. Gone were the strands that once grazed his ears and forehead, replaced by a clean and polished look.

Our eyes met, and a genuine smile graced my lips. "The new haircut looks nice on you, Elliot," I commented, my words carrying a touch of warmth. It was a simple acknowledgment, a fleeting moment of connection in the midst of our shared journey into the unknown.

A rare smile graced Elliot's face, and a subtle flush tinged his cheeks as my compliment found its mark. His hand instinctively reached for his recently trimmed hair, fingers gently tracing the subtle contours before he murmured his gratitude, "Thank you, Your..." He faltered, a quick glance towards the diligent helpers, each occupied with the task of loading bags into the carriage. A sigh escaped him, and with a gentle smile, he continued, "Thank you."

Opening the carriage door with a practiced ease, he executed a gracious bow, his demeanor a blend of formality and warmth. A small gesture, yet it spoke volumes of the intricate dance we performed to navigate the complexities of our roles. His hand extended towards me, a silent invitation for connection.

I hesitated for a moment, eyes lingering on his strong, capable hands. The unspoken tension between us hung in the air, but there was a shared understanding beneath the surface. With a reciprocated smile, I expressed my thanks and accepted his hand. Gathering the folds of my pistachio green dress, I ascended into the carriage, the warmth of his hand lingering as a fleeting connection in the tapestry of our shared journey.

The wait for departure was brief, and soon enough, Elliot joined me inside the carriage. "We are ready to go," he informed the rider as the horse initiated the rhythmic pull, propelling the carriage onto the bustling streets. It was an unspoken agreement that we would share this journey in a cocoon of silence.

Choosing to sit opposite me, facing in my direction, Elliot strategically positioned himself on the left corner of his side, mirroring my placement on the right. The deliberate spatial separation was apparent, creating a palpable distance between us, a tangible expression of the unspoken boundaries that governed our interaction.

The ensuing hours passed in silence, the only sound the rhythmic clop of hooves against the cobbled streets. My gaze fixated on the passing scenery outside the carriage, occasionally drifting towards Elliot. In the quiet expanse of the carriage, the weight of unspoken words and the tension of uncharted territory hung in the air.

As my eyes traversed his form, I couldn't help but notice the concealed knives, hidden in the folds of his knee-length boots and secured under his belt around his waist. The realization brought a mixture of emotions—gratitude for his unwavering dedication to my safety, yet a sober acknowledgment of the potential dangers that surrounded us. In the silence, Elliot's ever-prepared stance served as a silent reassurance, a reminder that even in the quietest moments, the shadows held the potential for unpredictability.

Squinting my eyes against the ennui that pervaded the carriage, I resolved to break the silence that stretched between Elliot and me. Boredom hung heavy in the air, and the miles to Elderwood seemed interminable. This was my last chance to bridge the gap and perhaps, in the process, befriend him.

"Elliot, do you mind if I ask you a question?" I ventured, a subtle urgency creeping into my tone. The prospect of solitude for the remainder of the journey spurred me to initiate a conversation.

"Indeed, Your Highness. You need not seek my permission to pose any query you may wish," he responded with customary formality, his words a well-practiced acknowledgment of our respective roles.

His adherence to protocol, though, irked me. With a raised eyebrow, I met his gaze challengingly. "Oh really?" I pressed, a spark of defiance coloring my words. "Very well, you would not take umbrage if I inquired about matters personal? You would not protest if I endeavored to unveil the intricacies of the life you left behind in Auzrelia?" I prodded, injecting a sense of playful audacity into the conversation, a subtle challenge to the boundaries that governed our exchange.

A weighted pause enveloped us, and I sensed Elliot's hesitation, a fleeting moment of uncertainty in the air. His guarded nature was no secret to me, and the prospect of delving into his personal realm undoubtedly brought discomfort. Yet, I hadn't posed the question seeking a revelation but rather to underscore the depth of loyalty required in his service.

Before he could articulate his response, I interjected, my words carrying a tone of earnest sincerity. "Elliot, I must remind thee that we find ourselves far from the familiar embrace of home. I bear the title of Princess not in Silverhelm but in Auzrelia. Pray, desist from addressing me as 'Your Highness', such formality does not sit well with me. Moreover, this charade of acting as my servant must cease. Your duty extends beyond mere formality, you are here to safeguard my well-being, a task you execute with exceptional prowess. There is no need for perpetual formality. Our relationship is built upon the foundation of loyalty, not servitude. Here, you are my guardian, not a puppet. If ever I stray, you must halt me, for your allegiance is not tethered to me or my kin. You are charged with protecting my person, not acquiescing to my every whim. I beseech you, Elliot, to remember your role, for you are not my servant."

After months of harboring unspoken thoughts, I summoned the courage to voice what had long lingered within my heart. Amidst the clamor and distractions of the outside world, I had hesitated, the weight of unspoken words pressing upon me. However, confined within the carriage with nothing but the rhythmic clop of hooves for company, I found the opportune moment to finally unburden myself and articulate what needed to be said. The confined space became an echo chamber for the release of emotions that had long sought expression.

After a few moments of contemplative silence, Elliot blinked and lowered his gaze. "I never felt like your servant, Your..." he hesitated, his uncertainty evident as he fumbled for a suitable address.

Amusement flickered within me at his momentary confusion, and I couldn't help but chuckle softly. "My name is Anne, Elliot. Just call me by my name," I gently reminded him, attempting to dissolve the formality that lingered between us.

His response was unexpected, and he seemed taken aback by my request. "I have the utmost respect for you. I can never call you by your name. My apologies, but I can't," he replied with a sincerity that mirrored his unwavering dedication.

A sigh escaped me, laden with a sense of acceptance. "Loyalty to serve my family runs deep in you, Elliot. Very well, if calling me by my name is too great a departure, then refer to me as 'Princess Anne.' It is a preferable alternative to 'Your Highness,' a title that has worn thin on my patience," I responded, a tinge of weariness underlying my words. The exchange marked a subtle renegotiation of the dynamics between us, an attempt to find a middle ground that balanced respect with a more human connection.

He appeared content with the suggested title. A palpable sense of relief washed over his features, and a soft smile graced his lips as he tentatively addressed me, "Very well, Princess Anne." In response, I reciprocated the smile. The new title resonated far more pleasantly than the formal 'Your Highness.' It felt like a step forward, a subtle sign of progress in reshaping our dynamic.

Acknowledging this development, I couldn't help but consider it a small victory. If I could guide him to address me as Princess Anne, perhaps, with continued time and patience, I could lead him to the simplicity of just "Anne." That, ultimately, was my aspiration—to shed the intricate trappings of royalty and simply be "Anne." The complexities of princesshood had taken their toll, and the desire to be recognized as nothing more than myself, unburdened by titles and expectations, had grown profound.

"You were inquiring about something earlier, Princess Anne," Elliot gently reminded me.

"Ah, yes. I was simply pondering," I glanced at the concealed knives discreetly peeking from his boots and belt, "Are we still facing physical threats in Silverhelm?" I inquired.

His brows knitted in concern. "Why would you pose such a question, Princess Anne? Do you harbor such fears?" Suddenly, his demeanor shifted to alertness.

"No, God forbid, no. I observed that you are consistently armed with knives, and it made me wonder. If there is no imminent danger, why do you always carry weapons?" I sought clarification.

He visibly relaxed, offering an explanation, "Well, there is currently no known threat to you here in Silverhelm. However, I must remain vigilant at all times, Princess Anne. I cannot afford to take chances, hence the constant presence of weapons—always prepared in case the need arises to protect you," he conveyed with a sense of unwavering dedication.

I sighed and nodded my head. I leaned back and asked, "Are you trained in knife fighting, Elliot?" This was the first time he was conversing with me without the formal protocol. I was going to take advantage of it and keep going.

"Yes, I am," he responded with a pride that shimmered in his eyes. The glint of accomplishment lingered as he elaborated, "I have dedicated years to honing my skills in close-quarter combat and sword fighting during my tenure in the Auzrelia military."

"Years?" I inquired, raising my eyebrows in mild surprise.

He nodded affirmatively, his commitment evident in the steady affirmation. "Certainly," he replied with a quiet confidence.

Feeling a surge of curiosity about the man who had become my steadfast guardian, I ventured further. "Don't feel compelled to answer if it's an intrusion, Elliot, but I am genuinely interested. How old are you?" The question hung in the air, a delicate inquiry into the chapters of his life that he might choose to share.

"There is nothing wrong in asking my age, Princess Anne." He added before answering to my question, "I turned twenty-eight last week,"

I hunched forward, my eyes widening, and my mouth agape in realization. "Oh dear, it was your birthday last week?" I asked, a note of surprise and regret coloring my words. He responded with a gentle smile, nodding his head in confirmation. "Why didn't I know about it?" I inquired, a sense of guilt creeping into my tone. "Oh my Lord, did you celebrate your birthday alone, Elliot?" The question spilled out, driven by a mixture of concern and genuine curiosity.

He softly chuckled, the sound carrying a hint of warmth. "I don't celebrate birthdays, Princess Anne. I don't fancy such celebrations," he replied, revealing a personal preference that hinted at a more private and reserved nature. The exchange carried with it a subtle exploration of his sentiments and a glimpse into the intricacies of his character.

"Why so?" I probed, my curiosity piqued. The question hung in the air, inviting him to share a glimpse of the reasons behind his aversion to birthday celebrations. He remained silent for a few seconds, his gaze lowered, conveying a reluctance to delve into personal matters. Sensing his hesitancy, I chose not to press, opting to sidestep the potentially sensitive topic.

"Well, you are most certainly older than me, Elliot. I must treat you with respect," I remarked, injecting a light-hearted tone to ease the atmosphere. A chuckle escaped him in response to my jest. "There is no need, Princess Anne," he softly snickered, his words carrying a touch of humility.

"Alas, the formalities," I exclaimed, shaking my head in mock exasperation, injecting a bit of drama into the moment. The small theatrical touch elicited a smile from him, a fleeting moment of shared amusement that served as a gentle diversion from the more serious undertones.

The journey to Elderwood unfolded with a tranquil rhythm. Periodic pauses allowed the horses respite, and we savored the simple pleasure of light snacks packed for the occasion. Following our brief conversations, a comfortable silence enveloped us. It wasn't the awkward hush that can burden companionship but a serene quietude, tinged with an unspoken camaraderie.

As hours slipped away, Elderwood emerged on the horizon. Drawing a deep breath, I cast a glance at Elliot, and our eyes mirrored a shared sentiment. The moment carried a weight—a recognition that, once again, we were about to step onto the stage of our fabricated marriage, playing out the charade for the benefit of onlookers.

Exiting the carriage, the unspoken understanding lingered between us. The upcoming performance required the resumption of our roles, a theatrical dance of pretense that concealed the complexities beneath the surface. Yet, within the quietude, a hint of friendliness and calm persisted a silent acknowledgment that, despite the façade, a certain connection had woven its subtle threads between us during the journey.