A King Without His Queen

Tall dark and handsome as most women of the city would say about the man now performing in the square. Would the women ever talk to him? Of course not. A gypsy was the scum of society, meant only to entertain. Everyone knew the gypsies were people not meant for fine society. Nevertheless, he showed up each week with his troop to perform for the people.

Who was this enchanting man with long dark hair, skin tanned from years in the sun, and eyes that sparkled with mirth and mischief? He was the gypsy prince, Rashka Akelan. Born to the king and queen of his people, Rashka has always been in the middle of everything the gypsies did. As a young boy, Rashka had always been interested in the dances and fire. That is why on this very day, Rashka Akelan was showcasing for the first time his new dance which combined his two loves. Dance and fire.

Walking into the city, he and his troop of vagabonds stood out. Some in muted, but beautiful shades, others in bright eye catching colors. He preferred a combination of the two, hence his lithe body was clothed with dark loose-fitting pants, a red scarf was tied about his muscled waist. His broad chest was not bound by any shirts or vests. He preferred in the summer time to allow his weakened winter skin to toughen up again.

The same kind of scarf around his waist was tied around his head, as a crown of sorts. The only way however for people to know that Akelan was indeed the gypsy prince was the tattoo on his arm, and a few scars on his back which were given by the fire and the testing given to prove his steel as the one who would soon take responsibility of the entire gypsy troop.

Smiling and spreading his arms, the vagabonds dispersed and Rashka Akelan began to set up for his dance. The women began to set up their cloth and fortune telling stalls, the men set up stalls to sell their weapons and other crafts. Rashka smiled at the group, nodded to everyone, and began the most enchanting dance that even the gypsies had ever seen.

Soon musicians joined in with their prince, giving him a lively beat to which he could dance to. It was not every time they came to market that Rashka performed for the people of the city. He was usually just there to oversee and make sure his people were fair as well as the city dwellers. Many a time, Akelan's people where blamed for underhanded tactics, but with no eye-witnesses to prove that it was the city folks who forced the gypsies to do that which they wanted.

As he danced, Rashka kept his eye on his people. No need for one of them to be jilted because of his inattentiveness. Gracefully he moved with and around the flaming ropes he held. It caused many burns while he was still trying to master it, but the burns almost all healed, leaving few burns.

Many would have thought that the scars would have distracted from Rashka's near divine appearance, but the disfigurements actually made him look more appealing. Each of the single women were concerned for their prince. Most likely since he had yet to choose a mate. Each of them secretly hoped he would pick them, but they were beginning to lose hope. Rashka Akelan was twenty one years of age. That made him a man every where else, but to the gypsies, he might as well have been fifty.

Most marriages among the gypsies were arranged and fulfilled at age sixteen. In other words, for the prince to still be unmarried at twenty one meant that he saw no one that he wanted to make his bride. Only the crowned prince got to choose his bride. Unless his parents forced him into a marriage.

Whilst he was dancing, Rashka drew a large crowd to the square. Many wanted to see the dancer. Would they ever admit that he was good to his face? No, but a few coins was all that was needed from him. The vagabonds noticed that many were entranced. There wasn't a single soul who wasn't, even someone of great importance. Eyes lingered on Akelan even as he finished with a smile and bowed. Everyone clapped, cheered and threw money or flowers to the handsome prince.

“You dance spectacularly well.” came a feminine voice from the crowd. People looked around, even Rashka did to find the source of the voice.

Almost like a ripple, the people of the city bowed when they realized they were in the presence of their princess. Only the gypsies remained standing. They would bow to no one unless he or she be their royalty. Rashka's eyes looked to each of his own, nodding slightly, and bowed. He was not an ignorant man. He knew who stood before him. His pride was the only thing that would have kept him standing. However, a gypsy prince was a nobody compared to a real princess of the land.

"What bring her royal highness to these parts of the city?" Rashka asked, lifting his face to reveal a small smirk on his lips, and mischief dancing in his dark eyes. It was a curious matter to Akelan, since he knew most royalty rarely left their palace to mingle among the people of common birth. Even by asking her a question seemed a bit rash and unwise for him to do. But Rashka was genuinely curious, and he was taught to ask if one curious, even if it meant the death of him.

The princess just let a little laugh come from her lip. “Does it surprise you that royalty would dare to enter the city?” She got her answer right away . Akelan's face gave it all away. He did not believe that the normal royalty loved their people enough to be among them. It was not so in the gypsy circles. A king would often spend more time with the villagers than in his own stately home.

Well, as stately as a tent could get. Vagabonds such as Rashka's groups were renowned for their nomadic, 'barbaric' ways. Only a few every did settle fully into a stone or mud hut and live like the 'civilized' world.

The princess's pale blue eyes widened a bit. She felt slapped, not physically but emotionally. How dare a common gypsy like the man before her imply that she or her parents did not be among the people they governed. Her eyes narrowed a bit as she took in more of his appearance. Her pale blue eyes landed on the tattooed arm

There it was, burned forever on his arm. The one thing which set him apart from ordinary gypsies. The insignia of the Akelan. The Royalty among the vagabonds as it were. The princess felt her face flush. So this is what an Akelan looked like. Just like any other gypsy. Her tutor had gotten it wrong. She felt her self give a small curtsy, not willing to give the man a full bow.

Rashka's tugged to a small smile. He knew that she had seen his arm, and now knew exactly whom he was. Rising slightly, Akelan moved toward the princess, who took on small step back. It may have been the grace and swiftness of Rashka's movements, or the fact she thought him contaminated that made the Royal Highness step back.

He knew she had at least seen his people before because she didn't seemed repulsed by his darkness. It wouldn't have been hard though, Akelans were the only gypsies allowed to perform for the King and Queen. Even at that it was usually just his parents.

As her guards moved closer to the two, Rashka sent a smirk to the one who looked most perturbed before he gently grabbed the princess's hand hand kissed it, causing the one guard to almost pop a blood vessel. Apparently that particular guard wanted the princess to be the princess of his heart as well. So of course he'd see Rashka's action as one of violence rather than civility.

The young prince's voice gently, softly, sounded so that only the very few closest to the princess and himself could hear. “Rashka Akelan, Prince of the Oonai Gypsies, at your service, Princess Lillianna.”