9.

Atarah was already having a bad day. She decided the council needed to see who was in charge. “Delroy can’t always get his way.” She mumbled. Delroy must've been her father and her uncle’s advisor, but her rule will have some changes.  She walked far away from the council hall and stopped in front of a circular window, which overlooked the famous Sargas rose garden. The weather was beautiful, and she wished to run to the waterfalls, where her favorite place lay behind the cave. Atarah had everything there, her practice weapons, and hidden wine, which she stole whenever the king would open his exclusive wine collection. She discovered the cave when she was 7 and on a hunt with her father. “Who does it belong to?” she had asked her father, noticing every single detail in the damp cave with wide eyes and an open mouth. Her father had chuckled at her reaction. “To us. It belongs to Sargas, to the royal family, to the people of Sargas. To you.” He cupped her face with affection and picked her up before she could step further inside the cave. 

“Can we visit it again?” She turned around her head to whisper the cave goodbye.

“Of course, honeybun, next time we will come here with mother and have a delicious picnic.” 

But there wasn't a next time. As for the next three years, conflict arose between Sargas, and the Elvi. the dangerous ones, with the elemental and black magic. They were murdered or forced to flee. And among the dead were her parents. She remembered herself standing in front of the mirror, a little taller than the rest of 10-year-olds, wearing a black silk dress and repeating her memorized lines without getting teary-eyed. 

Suddenly, the rain started spattering on the circular window, which brought back her attention. She saw someone’s blurred reflection coming towards her, and her reflexes kicked in. Atarah leaned slightly to the side, and grabbed the wrist of the stranger, twisting it to a 180, which resulted in a yell from the stranger. It was a boy. “What the hell, let go.” She recognized that annoying sound, but still held on to the wrist, twisting it more. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, gritting her teeth.

“I accompanied my father. Let go.” He was trying not to yell again. 

“Fine,” she said and pushed him hard, away from her. 

“Looks like you reached Antares safely.” Dragomir, grinned, his silver hair tied up in a neat bun, and his casual clothing made it look like he was accompanying his father. 

“I am sorry for the loss of your uncle.” He bowed his head in respect, and Atarah murmured a thank-you. 

“Will you be staying for the funeral tomorrow?”  

“Yes.” 

Dragomir opened his mouth to say something but the doors of the council hall opened on the far right, and everyone came out, talking among each other. Delroy seemed to have forgotten her and walked in the opposite direction, deeply immersed with the minister of defense. Meanwhile, King Othello was staring at Atarah, his eyes drifting from his son to the princess of this kingdom. “Your father seems to like me,” she smirked. Othello caught the smirk and smiled creepily. Atarah shivered. 

 “Arrogant bitches are his type.” Dragomir winked at her and left to join his brother, not bothering to reply to her cursing. 

                                                 ***********************

Elaxai had informed her that the king and his sons will stay in the west wing of the palace, which was where the royals and their VIP guests stayed over. She also told her that Dragomir will have the room right next to hers, which meant that the distance from their balconies was just a leap. Elaxai knew of the princess's secret meetups with the prince, but she never brought up the subject. She had been seeing most of the prince, coming and going after the peace treaty was signed. Which stood a little long. 

“Why did he have to have that room? I mean, there are so many of them. Why that?” Atarah was changing into her nightgown and complaining to Astara. “I can't stand that jerk.” She struggled to button up the dress from top but the button broke from her struggle and rolled on the floor, exposing half of her cleavage. “Ugh” she groaned. She pulled away the blanket from the bed and climbed up, lightning the lavender candle on her bedside table. “Goodnight Astara,” she said to the wolf, who was already asleep and covered herself comfortably, trying to get some sleep. 

It was half past 3 in the morning when someone opened the door of her balcony. The intruder stepped inside the room, not bothering to close the door, and tiptoed into the dark. He saw the wolf sleeping peacefully by the window, its face away from the intruder. He was standing opposite to the bed, and suddenly the lamp lit up. Atarah rubbed her eyes, stretching her arms in the air. Her bladder was full, and the cold had already made her go to the washroom twice. The intruder froze mid-step. He saw the girl’s movement as she headed straight to the bathroom without looking at his way. Once the door was closed, he resumed. 

He opened the door to her closet and took out the circular mirror, which acted as a torch. Sliding two fingers in the mirror, the light dimmed a little as to not attract attention; the intruder turned the torch towards the closet. He knew she kept it in here. He had seen her do so once he was in this room. But it would take a while to find them. He took a step inside, but a prickle on his neck made him stop and eventually ducked, dodging the long baton which struck to the door of the closet instead of his head. 

“Who the hell are you?” The princess was standing with groggy eyes and a baton. The intruder turned around slowly, his hands in the air. When he saw she was half asleep, he made a run for it to the balcony. But Astara was quicker. The wolf blocked the exit, growling at him, and then Atarah leapt up on him. “Answer me, you jerk,” she said in his ear. They both struggled, and the weight of Atarah on him was enough to bring him down on the bed. The intruder rolled sideways, trying to get up, but Atarah grabbed his wrist and straddled him, pinning them over his head. Her face was inches away from him. “Lights.” she said to the room, on command two lights over her bed lit up. Exposing the intruder’s face. 

“What are you doing in my bedroom?” she whispered to him. His eyes were wide. He had never been this close to her before. Her unbuttoned gown was showing way too much of her cleavage. “I got lost,” he said. 

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s true.” 

Atarah tightened her grip on his wrist, and Dragomir flinched. 

“Fine. I was just trying to get some diamonds.” He said, wriggling his fingers, but Atarah didn't let go. 

“I gave you for this month. Don't be greedy.” She let go of his hands but didn't get off him. 

“I don't need to tell you everything.” 

“You were stealing from me. You need to tell me everything, unless you want me to call the guards and show that Antares has produced a thief for a prince.” She smirked. 

He knew she wasn't kidding. And the guards outside her door would come any second if they heard another sound. Dragomir didn't want her pity. She was his nemesis on the battlefield, and he had already lost twice to her. Dragomir took the risk. 

“My father has selected me to become the crown prince, and my elder brother got the news of it. He has been threatening me since then. I need money to protect myself. I need to move away from him, but I know I'll always be within his reach.” He looked at his blocked exit, where Astara stood loyally. “I don't want to harm my brother, and I know if we fight, there will be more bloodshed. The diamonds are going to my protectors as payments, but the head has asked for more because i need to seek refuge soon.” 

“Why soon? Did something happen?” she asked, the sleep from her eyes disappeared. 

“There was a murder attempt at me. Poison in my food. Luckily, the server slipped. My cat Lilian ate it, and a few seconds later she died.” 

“Oh no, not the cat.” Atarah covered her mouth dramatically.

“Did you not hear the word ‘murder' attempt?” He raised his eyebrow at her.

“Yes, but the cat,” she pouted. 

Suddenly, a knock came at the door. “Your highness, is everything alright?” Margaret called out. “I'm coming in.” She said. Before Atarah could react, Dragomir commanded the lights to turn off and flipped her over, getting on top of her and covering himself with the blanket. Atarah was shocked. What just happened? She thought. Dragomir was breathing heavily at her. His gray eyes looked directly at her, and his chest rose and fell in rhythm with hers. Atarah had instinctively wrapped her hands around his neck while he placed them on the bed. They heard the door opening, and Margeret coming in, looking around. 

Satisfied that the princess was sleeping, she left.

 “Aren't you getting off?” Atarah whispered to him, and Dragomir rolled away from her quickly, stepping out of the bed and walking to the balcony in one swift move. “Well then, I assume you won't tell on me?” he said, stepping out.  

“NO, but I might blackmail you for it,” she smirked.

“I hate you.” Dragomir smiled back at her and left.

Atarah could not sleep after that incident. Mostly because her mind kept replaying that memory repeatedly, and that the prince had left behind his smell in her bedsheets. She lay on the other side of the bed, turning her head. Atarah inhaled in his scent, and memories of the waterfalls filled her head again.