Chapter II

Princess Iris Abigail sat in her litter, moving steadily down the road, accompanied by her attendants and guards. She did not particularly enjoy parades, especially on her birthday. She would not object today, though. That morning, she had decided that she was going to have a lovely day, regardless of the inconveniences of public appearance, dreary weather, itchy gowns and tight shoes, or anything else that might normally sour her mood.

The parade was a grand one. Iris was impressed at the number of nobles her father had convinced to join the parade, which would end at Bellenar Palace. Everyone in the parade was invited to Iris' "birthday banquet," as her father was calling it. To be honest, Iris wasn't close with most of the nobles attending her birthday celebration. The few nobles whom she was close to had not been invited by her father, most likely because his advisers told him that they were not "proper company for a princess."

Her most important birthday guest, whom she was looking forward to getting to know, was the oldest princess of Zourpaun, Katheryn Isabella. Katheryn was 24 years old and still unmarried, which was very unusual for a princess, or any woman for that matter. She had been ill with the plague when she was a child, and had been physically weak ever since. Due to this, she had not done much of anything since she arrived in Cavelnar three days before, too fatigued from her long journey. Iris didn't know Katheryn very well, but so far she had found the foreign princess to be a nice woman, despite their age difference.

One good thing about turning eighteen was that Iris now would have some say in the governing of the country; her father had promised her that much. She knew that her father wasn’t doing most of the ruling, so not all of the blame was his when it came to the horrible state of the country. Most of it fell on the shoulders of his trusted advisers, whom he consulted on every matter, from financial issues to banquet menus. Iris never did understand how these men had come to be her father’s closest friends. Many of them, while being charming and good looking, were foolish and uneducated in politics, hardly fit to advise the leader of a country. Some of them, though, she knew were poisoning her father's mind and influencing him for the worse. She was uncertain which of them were using her father's power and position for their own ends, but she suspected Lord Drusmab, especially. She could see him ahead of her, speaking with her father. It wasn't the first time she'd seen them conversing in hushed tones in public.

Just then, Sir Envoile rode up along side her litter, and said pleasantly, "Good morning, your Highness, and Happy Birthday!"

Iris turned to him and involuntarily smiled. Sir Envoile was a knight in his mid-thirties, who had risen in her father's favor after coming back from the war in Slorania. He was an agreeable man and an eternal optimist, who was always conscientious about paying attentions to his princess. She greeted him warmly: "Why, thank you, Sir Envoile! And how is the Lady Envoile?"

"She is not doing very well, I am afraid," he replied soberly, "My lady seems to have become ill since she last came to call on you. Unfortunately, she will not be able to attend your birthday festivities tonight. I'm terribly sorry."

Iris was shocked! Lady Envoile was a wonderful woman, who was always in fine health. A terrible thought struck her, and for a moment she slipped from her royal formality to ask apprehensively, "It's not the plague, is it?"

The knight looked grave as he answered, "It doesn't seem too bad yet, but the physician says it's too soon to say."

“Well, if there is anything my father or I can do for her, you don’t even have to ask,” Iris offered sincerely. She dearly liked Lady Envoile. She had married only a few months before, and had been Iris’ friend for years. "She will be sorely missed at the banquet tonight," she added, rather disappointed to learn of another friend's inability to attend the banquet. Her evening was becoming rather bleak. She had hoped she would have some friends to talk with, but now it appeared that it would just be her father and the company he preferred. After all, the banquet was his party, anyway.

As Sir Envoile bid her farewell, after promising to see her again that evening, and rode on, Iris went back to thinking. She didn't particularly like banquets, as she never did eat much. She would rather have a ball than a banquet. Balls were so much more elegant, but her father loved to eat, and couldn't understand how she could want to dance when she could be eating. There never were balls at Bellenar Palace. Even better than a ball, though, would be to do whatever she wanted for one day. If it were up to her, she would have a quiet party with only her dear friends. Last year, her cousin, Olivia Matilda, the crown princess of Duqair, had come to visit; and they had gone out horseback riding with their attendants and had taken a picnic with them. It had been wonderful. She wished she could have something like that this year. She and Betsy, her attendant and close friend, had planned on going riding this afternoon, but it looked as if they would be too busy with all the guests, if it didn't rain and spoil everything.

She had done it again! She had slipped into that miserable mood that seemed bent on haunting her today. She wasn’t going to be dejected and hopeless on her birthday. Today was a day for being joyful, not grumpy. It wasn’t worth it, to be melancholy on this day of all days. It was much more pleasant to be bright and cheerful, whether she felt that way or not. After all, Betsy always said that, when you smile on the outside, it seeps down to the inside.

Iris turned to Betsy, who was riding alongside her litter, and said brightly, “It is so nice to get out of the palace in the morning, is it not?” She hoped Betsy didn’t notice that she wasn’t feeling quite as chipper as she was trying to act. If Betsy perceived this, she hid it well.

Betsy replied pleasantly, “Oh yes, it is wonderful to get out of doors, though it looks as if it might rain. It would be a shame for it to rain on your Highness’ birthday.” She was a pretty girl, though not as stunningly beautiful as Iris, about seventeen years old, with long, wavy, red hair and deep blue eyes. She was shorter than Iris, and had more of a figure.

Iris' mind was not on what her maid was saying, however. She had turned her attention to the people gazing up at her from the streets. These were her subjects, the people she was in charge of protecting from their enemies, whether they be from Slorania or from inside the very palace. She smiled at them and waved kindly. They gave a thunderous cheer, making her want to cover her ears, but of course that would be improper. These people loved her! She wondered at how these people could adore her, when they didn’t even know her.

“You give them hope, your Highness,” Betsy said meaningfully, above the roar of the crowds, as though she could read her princess' thoughts. These words brought tears to Iris’ eyes. These people looked to her as their savior! How was she supposed to save them when, in truth, she had almost no power? Betsy was about to say more, when an arrow whizzed by her face, stunning her into silence. Another arrow hit Betsy’s horse, which fell to the ground, as Betsy leaped from her saddle. Pandemonium was raging among Iris’ attendants and guards. She could tell that some of them had betrayed her, and were attacking the others. Her litter-bearers were hit with arrows, and dropped her on the road. Two of the attackers finished off the last of her guards, and turned around to come toward her.

Iris was filled with fear of these two, who so easily defeated her many guardians. What could she do? The two guards had reached her now, both armed with swords and clubs. Betsy took her hand, pulling her up and away from danger. Iris turned to run, only to find that one of them had cut her off. She quickly grabbed the knife that she always kept hidden under her cloak. The guard sneered at her with ugly, crooked teeth and slashed at her neck. She tried to block him with her knife, protecting her neck, but getting sliced down her left cheek. The other guard hit Betsy over the head with his heavy, wooden club, knocking her out completely .

"Betsy!" Iris cried out amid the confusion. How was she supposed to be the savior of her people if she couldn't even save Betsy or herself? An arrow hit her in the right shoulder. Her fear turned to anger at the injustice the evil men were doing. With tears and blood from the stinging cut running down her face, her shoulder in great pain, the princess turned to her attackers and cried, with confidence she did not feel, "You will pay for this traitorous crime against the Royal Family of Bellen! How dare you? Why, you, you scum!"

The first guard just laughed in her face, and taunted, "Who will ever know who we were, little princess girl? After all, there's no way anyone could ever find out, since you won't live to
tell the tale!"

The other guard, not wanting to be left out, chimed in, "Yeah! No one will ever know why we-"

"Shut up!" the first guard snarled, cutting him off, "That's unimportant!" While they were yelling at each other, Iris noticed her father and his guards heading her way, to save her, no doubt. What was taking them so long? They had best make haste.

The guards had turned their attention back to her, and the first one took his sword, posed to strike. "Say your prayers, little princess," he snarled, a wicked sneer upon his face, "I promise, it'll all be over in a moment."
--So, this is how my life will end,--
she thought dramatically, as time seemed to stand still for that one moment,
--murdered by my own guards, at the tender young age of eighteen. After my death, there will be no chance of ending the war. It might even be suggested that Slorania was behind the assassination! And what if they are? It doesn't matter now, anyway. --
Iris took a deep breath, trying to look ready to face her doom, when the two guards fell motionless at her feet, both knocked out by a tall young peasant man, who was breathing heavily and staring at her with wide, hazel eyes.

As they were surrounded by guards, he fell to his knees, and said breathlessly, "Happy Birthday, your Highness."