Sorry, no spoilers here... mostly because we're making it up as we (the two authors writing this) go... This story takes place in a renaissance era world, when the two biggest nations are at war.
A snapping twig woke me from my light nap. The book I had been reading before I fell asleep started to slip off my chest, where I rest all my books when I take a nap, but I caught it before it fell out of reach. I sat up and leaned over my perch on the branch of a tree to see what the sound was.
"Thaif! Thaif, where are you? Do you not remember what you have planned for today?"
I couldn't see the speaker, but I instantly recognized the voice as belonging to my best friend, Clyer- although everyone calls him Cly. I dropped down, branch by branch, from the tree that I was sitting in and landed silently on the soft grass below. The grass cooled my bare feet as I walked towards the sound of my friend. When I saw him, he had his back turned to me, so I decided to have some fun.
I crept up behind him and said in a completely normal voice: "I didn't plan it, my father did."
Cly screamed and turned around as fast as he could. His eyes were almost popping out of his head and his skin had a ghostly pale complexion.
"Don't scare my like that, Thaif! You know how my mother gets when I have panic attacks!"
"Did my father send you to come find me?" I asked through my laughter.
"Yes. Now come on! You wouldn't want your lovely bride to have to wait longer than she has to at the cathedral!" Before I could say anything, Cly grabbed my tunic and pulled me back towards the village.
"What if I don't want her to be my bride..." I muttered under my breath, looking back towards the forest.
"Can you please at least dress up nicely for your wedding?" pleaded my father as he paced back and forth in my dressing room.
"This is nice dressings, for me at least." I argued.
"I'm sorry, son, but sloppily sewing the word 'nice' onto a shirt does not count as dressing up nicely." sighed father as he placed his head in his hand.
"I don't even care to marry this girl, father!"
"How can you not care for her, she's the fairest maiden I could find in all of ..."
"It's not the looks I'm worried about; she just doesn't have a very good personality!"
"We had supper with her and her family the other evening, she was very well behaved then," quarreled my father.
"Oh, and I'm sure she wasn't trying her hardest to be on her best behavior to leave a good impression on you. When we were in the carriage ride back to her home, she was absolutely cruel to me!"
"Perhaps she was just a little unsure of how to act towards you."
"I am seventeen, father; I'm old enough to make my own decisions now!"
"I make the final decisions, and you're getting married tonight. No more arguments!"
I looked over at the dressings my father chose out for me. Dark-blue tights; tights are bad enough, but that shade of blue makes them look even worse. The shirt was an ornate blue and gold gilded shirt with puffs at the shoulders and waist, with fancy intricate buttons lining the middle of the shirt. I don't like looking that flashy, if you can call that "flashy". The first thing that popped into my head was: I thought you were supposed to look presentable for your wedding.
"Okay, okay. I'll wear what you so graciously chose for me to wear." to the wedding that you forced me into, I added silently.
"Thank you. We'll be waiting for you in the chapel." My father smiled, and left the room.
I took off the stupid shirt that I had on with the word "nice" written on it, and switched into a fresh dark-green tunic. I placed a similarly colored cloak on and put a note on the table for my father to find when he returned. I walked over to the window, glared one last time at the outfit my father chose for me, and jumped out of the window. I got to my horse, a purebred Andalusian horse given to me for my seventh birthday, and rode out of town thinking that I might never see the fair country of Gwindavir again.