The Runaway Princess

The biting chill of the wine-soaked rag against your back sends a fresh wave of pain through you. Silent tears stream down your face as Marisol, your trusted maid and friend, gently dresses the angry welts left by the lashing. Five lashes. The punishment for publicly defying your father, the King of Spain, and refusing the arranged marriage to an 'old man'.
"Why did you do it, Elena?" Marisol whispers, her voice laced with concern, as she finishes bandaging your wounds. You hug your pillow tightly, the fabric damp with your tears. The pain is a dull throb now, a constant reminder of your foolishness and your father's fiery temper.
"My father desires my blind obedience," you murmur, your voice thick from weeping. Obedience. It's a word that has defined your life, a cage you yearn to escape. The thought of the Portuguese prince, your betrothed, arriving to 'view' you fills you with dread.
Marisol's touch is feather-light as she smooths the bandages. "Do you mean that?" she asks, her voice low but intense. "Do you really wish to leave the palace?"
The question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken possibilities. Do you? More than anything. "Yes," you say truthfully, the word a quiet vow. To be free. To not be mere cargo in a political exchange.
Marisol takes your hand, her grip firm. "Then we shall make a plan."
