1
"Artemis! Princess Artemis!" Blake Tolsyn called. The thin bodyguard squinted his pale brown eyes against the blazing mid summer afternoon sun that beat down upon the wide open meadow he stood in. He lifted his hands to his mouth and repeated, "Princess Artemis!"
"Princess!" yelled his best friend, Tony Brackenberry.
Blake's thick, sandy blonde hair that ended somewhere past his ears and obscured his eyes swished around as he turned to look at Tony. Tony's sensitive tan skin was even tanner, and now was brownish in color. His many freckles had exploded all over his face in the sun. His face and skin differentiated greatly from Blake's, who had naturally white-as-a-sheet skin and a perfect complexion.
Pale brown eyes met bright gray ones as the two friends stared at each other.
Tony shrugged his shoulders. "I wonder if anyone's seen her recently?" he suggested.
"Probably," Blake agreed.
"Spoke too soon," Blake muttered an hour later. No one had seen the princess.
"Agreed," Tony responded. "Much too soon."
"You looking for me?" questioned a feminine voice behind the two.
Blake jumped and whirled around. Behind him was, of course, none other than Princess Artemis Drake Annellya. Her waist length pitch black hair floated in the hot wind and her pale skin had started to tan a bit. She looked at Blake and Tony with amusement reflecting in her shining bright neon blue eyes as she sat upon her white made.
"Did I scare you?" she asked.
"Yes, we were looking for you!" Blake snapped. "And no, you did not scare me, only...startled."
"Same difference," Artemis snorted.
Tony rolled his eyes. "No, it's not!" he argued.
Artemis ignored the argument Tony was obviously attempting to get into with the teenager. She instead looked to Blake. "Why were you looking for me?" she asked. "Am I needed somewhere?" Her eyes lit up. "Has Swilter raided us again?"
"No," Blake sighed.
"Oh," the princess muttered darkly, taking her hand away from he handle of her sword and fingering an arrow in her quiver instead. When she was seven, Artemis had received the quiver along with a bow for her birthday. The next year, she got the sword. She had become quite a good swordswoman, but an even better archer. She preferred the bow above any other weapon available. The only reason why she was trained with a sword was in case the time came along in which her bow and quiver of arrows would not be enough defense. Her ability with the sword was like that of a professional; her ability with a bow was above that of any professional.
Then, when she was thirteen, her queendom, Annellya, was raided by the neighboring queendom, Swilter. She was locked in her quarters, but driven by the urge to use her combat skills in battle, she climbed through a window and escaped. She fought hard, surviving the attack and driving back the Swilternians' by killing their leader out of revenge. For before the leaders murder by Princess Artemis, the two had been swordfighting, then along came Artemis's older brother, Elix Mortor Annellya, to "save Artemis's life", when she obviously didn't need saving. It was tragedy: The Swilternian army's leader, whom Artemis had just been fighting with and winning against, had killed Elix. Artemis had become angrier than ever, and full of grief and rage, jumped onto the Swilternian's back, stabbing him. He died instantly.
Artemis shook herself from that memory. "What do you need then, Blake?" she growled to her eighteen year old bodyguard.
"Your parents require your presence," he told her. "I believe it is important, and you must see them instantly."
Artemis rolled her eyes. "Sheesh, I can't teleport myself everywhere!" she replied with a slightly sarcastic tone. But still, she turned her white horse around Blake and Tony and galloped away from them, towards the Palace of Annellya.
TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 1: PART II
Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
