Glass

Luckily, my father's evolving worries expanded to my marriage, and it was delayed month by month despite my mother's protests. But the more he feared giving me up to someone he couldn't completely trust, the more I feared that one day he'd change his mind.

It was the eve of my nineteenth birthday when my mother finally convinced my father to let me marry. The dread within me hung heavy for so long that I had long expected the day to come and thought myself prepared.

So on that June evening when the chocolate cosmos bloomed and revealed their purple-red centres to the sun, I was summoned to the court. It was rare that such a formal thing occurred with me involved, so I had a suspicion that my parents had finally agreed upon an engagement.

My heart sped into a murmur the closer and closer I got to the giant courtroom doors, and when I opened the door with a shivering palm despite the arid heat, the prospect I avoided for so very long waited for me on the other side.

My mother's courtroom was one of the largest rooms in the palace, and while I was generally allowed to roam freely within the confines of the outer walls, the courtroom was often out of bounds, clamoured by adults who stood and spoke for hours at a time. The room was perfectly symmetrical - with tiles of orange and blue patterned into a circle in the centre. The awnings high up on the ceiling were carved with vibrant alebrijes watching over us; watching over the kingdom. At the end of the room, two thrones stood on high steps, bathed in the multicoloured sunlight pouring through the stained glass window. Atop them, my parents were still and shadowed, their little fingers touching for the other's comfort.

"Andres, my son." My mother spoke first, as was custom in her court. I looked around, and to my relief, no other surrounded the three of us. The relief would not last, however. "I'm sure you are long aware that you are due to be engaged."

"Yes mother," I nodded slowly, "you have found a match?"

Queen Josefina rose from her throne, her silver hairs now visible in the light. King Santos followed suit.

"We have decided to allow you to choose your own suitor from a list of candidates. You will meet these candidates at a ball we will be hosting in three days' time."

"You mean... I'll be meeting them all at once?"

My parents nodded in unison. "Well... How many are there?"

The king and queen looked at each other. My gut dropped.

"Six hundred, give or take."

Mother spoke as though she was merely commenting on the weather.

"Six hundred?" I spoke barely audibly. I'd never met one woman beyond Mendessa's palace, never mind hundreds. And to speak and dance with all of them in one night? Surely, they didn't expect me to find a suitable bride that way.

"And of course, the families of each candidate will also be attending for your convenience."

For my convenience? I knew she meant that I'd be able to judge the calibre of each maiden's upbringing, but there was absolutely nothing convenient about it. If I was to choose a wife of my own, I'd want to judge the character of the bride herself, and if I had it my way, I'd craft a ceremony that required as little awkward conversation as possible.

I cringed thinking of the hundreds, possibly thousands of small talk encounters I'd be forced to make. What do people even talk about? How could I be sure I had a connection with anyone in mere minutes before I had to move onto the next? My head was a whirring spinning wheel, playing over and over the repetitive phrases and introductions I'd have to endure.

I dared to raise my voice.

"Mother... Are you sure this is the right way?"

The queen was perplexed.

"Whatever do you mean?"

I tried to talk sense, but then a scorn appeared, and she spoke again. "You have your pick of noble ladies across the entire world. You get to choose. Most would be forced to marry strangers they meet at the altar. Do you understand that any man would strive to be in your position?"

But I was not just any man. I would be, had I been given the chance.

I took hold of my heart again, as though the touch would slow the beating. I thought of the ocean, peaceful and still, trying to stop myself from pathetically trembling in front of King Santos.

A plan formed.

"I will agree to this," I breathed, "I will find a bride." My mother's face softened. "However..."

If I was to forge my own legends, then may had been my only chance. "Once I am married, you must allow me to explore the world."

Father shot up.

Mother spoke before his speechlessness could end.

"I will agree to this."

"No! Absolutely not!" Father bellowed. "Do you have any idea what's out there? It is no place for a prince!"

My body tightened up. I took a gulp. It was now or never, and I could not let this opportunity go.

"Father, we are in an era of peace. The creatures-"

"You think that beasts are the only danger in this world, boy?" Father spat, the last word particularly harsh.

"Santos, calm yourself!" Mother snapped in a tone she'd only ever used on me before. Despite his previous determination, he stopped immediately. Mother breathed. "I have the final word. We will allow you to travel."

My face glowed.

"But…" she continued.

My face sank again.

"...under my terms. First, you will not travel beyond this palace until after you are married."

I nodded, half elated but half defeated.

"Secondly, you will travel for only eight months. At the end of which, your heir will likely be nearly born."

I felt sick to my stomach.

"Thirdly, you will not travel alone. You must be accompanied by guards at all times. I will personally enlist a small group of our finest to you."

Father flushed pale.

"Josefina, I-"

"-Its time our son was granted his freedom. Goodness knows he's been caged in here long enough."

Father shut his eyes and breathed deeply. I tried to thank my mother, but my voice at this point was hardly even a whisper. Father began to descend the steps slowly. I stepped back for a moment, but he approached me regardless. He had emerged completely from the shadows, hair the colour of iron ore and face the colour of sand. I struggled to look him in the eye at first until I saw it; the water brimming his eyes; his thin lips trembling.

I was clasped into a tight embrace, the warm water escaping and dripping down my shoulder.

"Oh, my son," father was still able to keep his voice from shaking. It seemed he wanted to say something more, but the words escaped him the longer he held onto me. Eventually, I hugged him back. I looked up at my mother, and I could smile and speak clearly again.

"Thank you."

The terms granted were less than ideal, but it was a start. It was even a miracle in itself that father gave up his argument - something I had never seen before.

While the bliss of finally being set free excited me for a while, remembering what had to come before brought my mood right back down to complete terror.

It occurred to me that I hadn't even considered what it was I was looking for in a wife, outside of vague adjectives and the odd blurry dream I'd hardly remember. Intelligence was highest on the list, but even the all-knowing Emiliano always told me such a thing was subjective. Beautiful, of course, but which features I found preferable, I wasn't sure. A sense of humour, perhaps. Maybe a voice I found soothing. What would it take for one of these women to meet all my expectations, when I didn't know what they were myself?

To meet so many in one night and somehow know immediately who I'd want to marry didn't seem realistic, no matter how many times mother claimed my parents' love was love at first sight. I wondered if perhaps they were doing this to punish me, or perhaps to urge me to socialise for once in my life. But this was not the way to do things - even Emiliano agreed.

"Six hundred women? My, it would take at least ten hours to introduce yourself!"

I had resigned to the comfort of my boring library, intending on staying quiet but blurting my frustrations as soon as Emiliano asked what was wrong.

"Perhaps it would be wise to not force yourself to speak to everyone - only those who…" he thought for a less insensitive way to say it, "...pique your interest."

"But how am I to figure that out?"

"You'll know, Andres, you'll know."

I sat in the corner, holding onto the physical manifestation of my hope - the blue leather-bound book filled with oceanic knowledge. The pages were worn and threatening to detach from the spine, though I held it delicately, flicking through the illustrations of ships sailing into the sun.

I did not dwell. Instead, I closed my eyes and dreamt in white and blue.