4. Alexandra

Princess Myra’s voice is the only thing cutting through the unsettling absence of carriages and people. It’s impossible to concentrate on anything else but the sound of her talking, words smooth and slippery like warm butter left out in the kitchen heat. I heard a lot of voices in my lifetime. My father yelling, piercing as his screaming was I was blessed with being deaf in my left ear, so I suppose his scolding meant nothing, poor farmers who thanked me generously for defending their lives and land, all sorts of women whispering my name on dark nights. And still her voice is the one burning into my brain like fire. It’s the kind of voice soldiers tell stories about, the last thing they swore they heard, when they thought they would die. The voice of an angel. With my luck her voice is the one I’ll hear when my time comes.
I am so wraped up in her that I almost don’t notice the approaching carriage. It’s loaded with hay and heading south, where we came from. Due to a shortcut, many deliveries were delayed. Including hay. The next ration is to arrive in three days. I hush the princess inside. There is no time to explain anything. I know I have to appear calm from the outside, even if I feel anything but. The carriage reaches us way to far.
Suddenly two men appear from under the cargo. The coachman whips his head to his right. His eyes widen at the sight of the shotgun directed at his face. A merciless bullet through the head and he’s dead in less than a second.
The horses go wild consumed by fear. Only the coachman, stays on the carriage as it passes us. The other two jump onto the roof of our vehicle. The taller aggressor lunges forward. He attempts to cut my throat, but I duck at the right moment. Drawing my sword, I follow the men onto the roof. I turn to look at the shotgun. My weapon cuts through the air, not giving him enough time to fire at me. He ducks but is not fast enough. Blood splatters from his arm as soon as I cut through his flesh. The shotgun slips out of the man’s grip and off the roof. The smaller man presses his hand onto his wound unaware of what I’m about to do. A surprised gargle escapes his lungs as I kick him off the carriage.
The other man’s face is scrunched up in pure furry. Sword in hand and without any kind of humour he launches himself at me. I step to the right. He makes an attempt to grab me but slips on the armour I’m wearing. In return I throw him off to follow his campaigning.
The horses haven’t calmed down, so I hop onto the bank, grab the reins and pull as strong as I can. It barely slows them down but ut it is enough to take control. I make sure no one sees us as I turn left, into the darkened forest. I let the animals pull the carriage for a few more minutes but soon the path vanishes. I jump off the carriage, carelessly tossing my sword to the ground. I yank open the door to make sure the Princess is alright, only to be met with a piercing screech and book smacking into my face. I look up and my eyes meet a still screaming Princess holding up another book, eyes closed.
»Princess!«, I shout, out of breath. She hears me and opens her eyes. »It’s over. You’re safe now.« It’s like she’s frozen. The only movement is the tears gleaming in her eyes. I wish I could pull her into my arms for comfort but I lost that right a long time ago when I decided to follow my father and abandon her. And this is what I do, once again. Leave her alone.