Black Morass timor

Her lips pursed—royals and their politics.

Royals and their ability to lay waste to those around them.

The mirth faded from her eyes briefly—her gaze drifting away from him in rumination. “The desert you suggested I seek out, I assume?”

A pause then—a streak of fatigue, mixed with boldness. “You were probably right. I go there—I present myself. Maybe they will give me a choice or options to whom I marry.” Guards to keep her from those at home who missed their princess pawn.

A faux semblance that she had an option in her life… fleeing from one kingdom only to enter another.

She loathed that a part of him had perhaps been right... that she was not cut for this life of barely surviving. Spoiled, pampered brat.

She held back a bitter smile, fleeting as it may be. “Do you need anything for the pain?”