//------------------------------// // Prelude: Maiden of the Old Lands // Story: Pri(n)celess // by Ice Star //------------------------------// Princess Platinum, like all of the Unicorn Royalty before her, was a mostly insufferable brat. Her muzzle was always scrunched up with disdain and turned upwards with contempt. However, this was not an unusual display for any who dwelled in the cold, unforgiving stone stronghold that was the unicorn royals' castle in the near-barren Tribelands. She stumbled down dim halls after the adults when she could escape her nurse. To the little filly, this mare was just another easy replacement following in her mother's hoofsteps, and not because she thought her nurse cared for her in any way. Platinum was a proper filly and was indulged with no silly notions by any of the castle staff, or her mother, Queen Vitalis when the latter was alive. She was raised to be a proper unicorn, after all. Even at the tender age of four winters old, she knew that only three things mattered: the blood in her veins that marked her as royalty, the gold of her family, and the horn on her head. The great exception to these three things was that magic was not among them, for mastering magic was a mad notion for those below her to waste their time on, and it always had been. The fine crown that sat upon her father's head — and would one day rest on her own — would get her what she wanted. That was how it worked for her father, and all of Platinum's many-times-great grandparents back. Every unicorn dynasty before her family had used the crown the exact same way, no matter all the different, equally violent ways that they took it from one another. She heard this and much more whispered in the hall by noblemares and stallions rushing about with servants rushing blindly to their every need. Those servants never questioned an order, as was proper of unicorns in their station. Platinum was a good filly, and in her time a good filly was a little filly just like her. Even if that kind of filly was spoiled beyond belief and rotten to her very core, as cold as the metal for which her and her father before her and his father before him were all named. Platinum looked like her father too. Her luminous white mane — a trait that named her sire before she could even speak his name, grew long and spilled over her withers and brow. This was helped in part by the long grooming sessions that maids made her endure, brushing out each tangle. The whole time, they were given special sanction to ignore the young filly's constant cries not to pull so hard — and sometimes Platinum thought that they were ordered to pull harder when she cried. But those ceased after a while, the queen would not have such a noisy daughter and her cold, loveless words made it clear to the young filly. While Platinum did not understand much at all at her tender age, one lesson always stood out — that she was to obey. She was a proper filly. A good filly. A royal filly. A unicorn filly. All of which were things that mattered, as she was so often told. Though, she was never told why, but that was alright, for she never asked. She wasn't supposed to, just like her father hadn't been expected to, nor was his father before him, and... Her father's coat of silver had not shown in hers, but his watery blue eyes were shared with her. She loved them, even though she had to squint nearly all the time to see anything that was more than a couple of hoof-lengths in front of her. But that was okay too, because if she squinted hard enough her mother's pale green coat — something that was rare and to be treasured, or so she was told — almost looked bluish. She hated her coat, and whispered curses at her hooves when nopony was listening, all in the hopes that one day she would have cursed the garish green enough that it could drain from her body. It was ugly because it reminded her of her mother. Anything that reminded her of her mother was ugly. She was glad that her mother was not there to hit her as all the other mothers Platinum knew. Otherwise, every misdeed she had ever done and all those she had yet to do would be punctuated with thrice the amount of strikes a foal was supposed to receive. Were those that her father and the servants gave her not enough? She was glad that in Tirek's invasion, her mother was the most notable victim of his destruction. The whispers she was not supposed to hear still told of how Tirek had squished her like a closet-moth could be pulled from locked-up petticoats and smeared under one's hoof upon the floor. Yet, this never changed the fact that every time she opened her eyes, she often saw the face of a mare that only lingered in portraits on the halls. Platinum was surrounded by all the sights of a mare she had never met. She was haunted by a ghost no magician could detect, if they believed her at all when she cried to them about the mare who stood over her bed each night. This was the phantom-mare that her father, King Tantalum, told her to shut up about each time she dared breath an attempt to confide in him. He roared like a dragon at her about how she ought to keep quiet, lest the court think she was mad! In her chambers, she heard her mother's voice haunting her and telling her about all the things a good filly would do. Her voice as cold as Platinum could recall from the lingering memories of her mother, and matched the same tone that her wet nurses and others were supposed to speak to her in. Those memories were few, considering she was only an infant at the time of her mother's death. Even then, Platinum had known later that her mother only wanted to adhere to the proper customs of the court and allow a nurse to see to her daughter, who was the throne's heir in name only. Platinum would continue to be that heir-apparent until the death of her father. Her father's near-scandalous choice not to take a new wife made her the heir of the Unicorn Tribe — even if she wasn't a colt. More than the way the window-shutters rattled, Platinum had learned that it was such a shame that she had been born a mare. Stallions were expendable and capable of seeding as many heirs as could be possibly needed in a legion of bought brides, should the family tree suddenly appear to be scant on branches. A colt was an easy price to lose to sickness if he had enough bastards and heirs trotting about. Mares were supposed to live in comfort, to squawk at husbands, and to make foals by the dozen. They were important in ways that stallions were not, and the stress of politics was not to be upon them if possible because politicking was second to running a household and being the administrator of an estate's war-choices on the other two tribes. Those were mare-duties, and stallions were merely meant to be figureheads bedecked in all that might advertise them as a proper spoil for mares to enter into the business arrangement that marriage was. Kings, lords, and other stallions were susceptible to be slain and tortured during raids and intra-race feuds. Mares and tradition, the two most powerful things in the world, had decreed that it was they who were to be the busiest and first up for dying in the name of duty. The only acceptable death for a mare was after she was old and gray and had no more foals to push out, for a mare who died while she was foaling was the greatest source of shame a family could have. Her mother liked to remind her of these many secrets a lot too — even when ponies were around Platinum. The queen was there to tell her daughter that she should have been a colt, for if a colt died in his crib, there was less shame than if a filly had been in his place. To be female was to be a charm locked away in life's jewelry box and flaunt oneself as much as family flaunted the power of daughters. When a daughter died, there was a real tragedy to be had. Platinum didn't know why her mother longed for this so much. She was dead. Her stare was cold. Her voice was like the ice of the long winter that her land experienced — the kind that was growing longer by the year. Sometimes, the little filly would wonder if she could touch her mother, though she had no reason to, and if she would feel as cold as her voice was. The days when her mother wouldn't come were the worst. Platinum was often alone then, and she hated being alone, even when her mother wasn't there. She would sway back and forth on her hooves as much as her gaudy silk dresses and jewels would allow under cold pressures that she didn't think should be there. Platinum would suffer through her usual bouts of achy headaches that she liked to imagine were just from her having a horn. It was like when her father told her the crown was a burden, she simply concluded that all this was the burden of being the pure race, the true race, and all the other things she was told. Listen and obey. She did those a lot. The only pony Platinum never thought to obey was her mother, who told her things she wasn't sure how to obey and didn't sound like commands at all. Princess Platinum was not a scholar. She was not smart, but she was called beautiful countless times, as was proper for mares and fillies to be called. Smart and powerful were words for the stallions — those were the words that told you they were meant to be used. She knew that, but being a princess and the heir made Platinum like to think that she knew a fair deal too. Even if she wasn't ever allowed to tell somepony that, it was a nice thought to nurse. She knew that she hated her mother — who made her eyes burn with colors she didn't like before she appeared — and watched little Platinum when she wasn't visible. Platinum felt cold strokes on her mane when no crown was there, and she knew it was her mother. The bitter taste of something like poor ale would touch her throat after she spoke her mother's name, but she smiled to show everypony how much she loved the dead mare who stalked the halls from one portrait to another. From the walls, Platinum's mother would urge her to listen, listen, listen to everypony and all the things that the queen knew to be true about life. She had been born to the highest gentry and had a marriage arranged with the king, whom she never loved and never would — as was proper — and she always loved to remind Platinum of this as a distant scream that was never hers replayed in her daughter's mind. Was it her mother's scream? She wasn't sure of that, but Platinum always liked the sound of it. Sometimes, it would make her feel safe. If there was anything in the world that could make her mother scream with such pain as that, Platinum knew that there was still good in this world. Maybe one day the vision who stalked her would make that same agonizing scream, and there would be nothing to touch Platinum's body or mind ever again. Platinum liked to think that this phantom was just a shadow, one that nopony else could see. Surely there was something powerful enough to make a shadow disappear? She was almost glad that the shadow of the queen took such pleasure in tormenting her. It meant she had a heart. Somewhere. Probably. Just like her mother and father, Princess Platinum took to lies easily. What pony didn't? Lies were everyday, common among both the wealthy and the poor, and almost required. Nobles and slaves alike would lie, assuming the slave still had their tongue. They were a basic part of speech, like all the other things she was supposed to memorize from the tutors who didn't quiz her all that well at times. A lie was as needed as a noun. She heard them talk about how she would have been better off a colt, but that was okay because most of the time she didn't hear them. She avoided the cane and always stared straight ahead. In the event that her tutors were stallions, she was actually able to focus on the painstakingly boring lessons. However, Platinum was quite sure she would never need to use reading and horn-writing in her life, much less her other lessons. When her tutors were mares, there was nothing harder than paying attention to her lessons — and Platinum had no idea why. Either way, she really didn't like lessons all that much. Instead, Platinum preferred to stare as calmly as possible at her mother, who sat there with her. The old queen attended every lesson, her hard look of disapproval always boring into Platinum... ...especially when her tutors were mares. It didn't matter. Things were okay. Lots of things were okay. Many ponies were okay. Platinum just wasn't one of them.