The Missing Scene

Sian flew into the changing room, scrabbling at her corset with fumbling fingers. Orla was already in there, in her sparring outfit, with a loose white shirt, blue slacks and light leather boots. 

“Father is completely out of control!” Sian hissed. 

Orla stepped towards her and started tugging at the laces, helping her pull off the layers of her dress. 

“Apparently, Phoenix Gate is so important to our food supply that I need to go and advise on how to run the planet!” 

Orla’s fingers froze mid-lace. “That is… good?” 

“Yeah, except I need to marry some peasant,” Sian spat. Orla pursed her lips but didn’t respond to that. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, I kind of always knew it, right? My sole job in this life is to be a decoration for someone else. I will never actually rule anything, despite the fact that I came top of all my classes! I am capable of running a planet—better than half the Kallidors here—but instead I get shipped off to some backwater planet to marry some idiot whose greatest claim to fame at this point is that he once let a cow loose in his school for a dare.” 

“Is your father finally selling you?” 

Sian let the question hang, then said, “Father thinks it’s too dangerous to send an advisor to Phoenix Gate because of the optics. So he’s sending me. As the king’s new bride.” 

Orla’s mouth fell open a little. “You’re being married off?” Her hand gripped Sian’s fingers. 

“I do not know,” she said hollowly, sinking onto a nearby bench. “Father says I do not need to marry this guy if I hate him. But you know how these things go. It’s difficult to back out of an engagement without there being a minor war.” 

“Do you have to do it?” 

Sian shrugged. “Kind of. This is what I was raised for, right? My brother is the future king of Varaliene. I’m not.” 

After a minute, Orla said, barely above a whisper, “So… what does that mean for us?” 

Sian’s fingers gripped Orla’s even tighter, but she didn’t look at her. 

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “It’s not as if a new queen can share a bedroom with her high school best friend.” 

Orla’s eyes flickered back and forth, mind racing. “But I can be… your bodyguard? I have the Glamour. Right?” 

Sian’s mouth was dry. “I need to talk to Father,” was all she said. “I do not know what this trip will look like yet.” 

“When do you find out more?” Orla asked. 

“Tomorrow. I think Father wants me to leave next week. He’s working it all out with his Kallidors.” 

Orla nodded, eyes focussed on the floor, her hand shaking. “Okay, then we’ll wait to find out more. For today, I think we need to just keep ourselves busy.” 

Sian staring into space. “What if Damina gets worse and I cannot come back to see her?” she whispered. 

“She won’t. She’s a fighter,” Orla whispered, leaning over and planting a slow kiss on Sian’s cheek. Sian didn’t move, tears welling in her eyes. 

Orla stood up and pulled the duelling swords from the wall. 

“Hey, I have an idea,” Orla said gently. “Why don’t we hit some things? It always helps me feel better.” 

Sian laughed despite herself. “It always makes me feel better, too. Let’s call in whichever Kallidor had this stupid idea and poke at them with the pointy end of those.” 

The two faced each other for a moment, their eyes glassy. 

Orla asked quietly, “Are you with me? What are you thinking?” 

Sian looked away. “I do not even have the words,” she said, focussing on the floor. “I just want to hit some things.” 

Sian and Orla stepped out into the training hall, eyes downcast, lost in a future they had no say in.

***

The pair faced each other in the duelling circle, eye to eye. The hall was tall, with bright blue walls and a shiny hardwood floor with a thin white line representing the edge of the combat area.  

Sian had been learning to duel since she was a child, should she ever need to protect herself. Her father had layered security measure upon security measure, to the point of constriction. 

Orla, on the other hand, had not learned to duel from a young age. She had joined Sian’s school in Sian’s final year on a scholarship from Novadom. The first time Orla had held a sword was in class at Sian’s school, where all the students had been duelling all their lives. Orla had started out poorly, but Sian tutored her privately. And then they began dating in secret, and the sparring matches became a space for a stolen kiss or two. And despite the distractions, Orla soon became quite a proficient swordswoman. 

Sian strode over to a discreet cabinet hidden in one wall and pulled out a drone. She pushed a button on its top, and it started darting about, mapping out the field and the competitors. Once it was done, it hovered above them. It let out a small chirp, letting them know it was ready to referee. 

The pair lifted their blades. And the drone beeped. 

Sian leapt forward with a strike, but Orla parried it aside. Back and forth, they moved across the wooden floor. Sian tried to block Orla’s attacks and then counterattack, but Orla was too fast. Sian struggled to gain the upper hand, but with one swift movement after another, Orla deftly decimated Sian with a feint to the left, then a strike to the right. As Sian stumbled out of the ring, Orla helped the princess up. 

“You always seem to know my moves before I do.” Sian pouted. 

“You’re just distracted today.” 

“Any ideas to help me focus?” Sian asked, stepping closer to Orla. “Other than stringing up a Kallidor or two?” 

“How about a long, hot bath?”