Author: numina PM
Princess Sakura had been dreaming of this for a hundred years. What she didn't expect was an overprotective brother, an obsessed best friend, and an emotionless Prince Charming. [SakuSyao]Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Humor - Sakura K. & Syaoran L. - Words: 1,626 - Reviews: 22 - Favs: 7 - Follows: 20 - Published: 10-18-06 - id: 3204558
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: Another chaptered thing, by yours truly. Tell me if I should continue. nn
Summary: Princess Sakura's been dreaming of this day for the last hundred years. What she didn't expect was an overprotective brother, an obsessed best friend, and an emotionless Prince Charming.
Disclaimer: Sleeping Beauty doesn't belong to me, nor does CCS--that belongs to CLAMP.
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"Whoa, whoa, easy," a figure riding atop a horse said lowly, reining in the spooked horse. "It's just vines."
The snow-white horse trotted on, the rider wielding a gleaming steel longsword with a red tassel dangling from the hilt. Amber eyes searched the tangle of flora once more, and the sword hacked down on the vines that blocked his way.
After a few minutes of hacking and slashing through overgrown plants, he looked up into the looming outline of a decrepit castle. Bone-white and crumbling, it was covered with out-of-control ivy and it looked ready to collapse any minute. The rider dismounted soundlessly and hurried to the wooden front doors, ignoring his horse's nervous whinny.
He tried pushing the doors open, but they wouldn't budge an inch. The lock had been rusted over, and in all likelihood so were the hinges on the ten-foot tall mahogany double doors. The man reached into his left sleeve and pulled out a precisely-cut rectangle of paper, lettered with blocked characters.
Whipping out his sword once more, he tossed the paper charm into the air and caught it on the steel blade.
A whirlwind of flames burst from the paper and hit the doors ferociously, making a deafening sound as it knocked the doors down. He resheathed his sword as the smoke cleared slightly.
Without so much as a blink, he swept inside, holding his forearm in front of his nose to block the brunt of the dust and smoke the collapse had stirred up.
The castle seemed eerily quiet, and everywhere he looked was the sign of disuse. Cobwebs bloomed spectacularly all over the main hall, and two guards were sprawled besides the double doors when he looked back. He stepped over to the figures and noted the constant faint heaving of their breastplates.
Shaking his head, he continued on into the neglected halls, stumbling right into was most probably the throne room. A figure was slumped over one of the identical scarlet-padded and gilded chairs on a dais. Walking up to the man he observed that he had auburn hair and a rather serene expression on his face, contrasting with the thin-framed glasses sitting askew on the bridge of his nose. He shook his head again. This must be the king, judging from the elaborately-worked golden crown sitting on the top of his head.
The rider straightened up and continued on, remembering what he had been instructed to do.
There should be three doors on each side of the Audience Hall. Take the uppermost on the left and keep on climbing to the third floor.
Reaching the instructed floor, he walked the corridors quietly. It was an open one, and only a three-foot balcony saved the unwary observer from a seventy-foot drop into the untamed bushes below. Columns of white marble dotted the balcony ever so often, framing a majestic view of the surrounding forest. If he went eastward enough, he could see the outline of his own home, standing amidst a bustling town.
He moved on, and started counting doors.
It's the seventh door, with a star and moon insignia carved in the marble.
He stopped, and tried the handle. As expected, it wouldn't move.
He stepped back for momentum, and kicked open the white door. The hinges offered no resistence as the marble collapsed inwards, revealing the room it guarded.
Of all the places he had seen in this castle, this room seemed to be in the best condition. Almost untouched, actually. Pink drapes framed a large glass window perfectly. Another door led to what he presumed was the bathroom. There was another doorway to a rather large closet, filled with simple dresses and nightgowns. A mahogany desk was situated in one corner, and bookshelves lined the wall above it.
He crossed the room and walked to the said table, a small book catching his interest. The pink cover had been gilded with the figure of a lion, and when he turned it over, an intricate glyph of a sun, star and crescent moon greeted him. A similarly pink and gold pen lay uncapped beside it. He picked the book up.
There was a lock, already flipped open, on the side, and curious, he flicked it open and turned the cover.
It wasn't really a book after all; rather, it was designed to look like one when instead, it was built to hold cards. He took out the topmost one, the figure of a woman with feathery wings wrapped around her and with her eyes closed. There was a name at the bottom.
"The Windy," he said aloud.
Immediately the card glowed, and he watched impassively as all the remaining cards flew out in the howling gale the card had unleashed. The cards disappeared from sight, leaving him with the Windy and an empty book in his hands. He shook his head, replaced the solitary card within the book, and returned it to its place on the table.
That was not what he came here for.
His eyes traveled the length of the room, and rested on the figure atop the four-poster bed with white gossamer curtains drawn back.
The rider crossed the length of floor and paused at the side of the bed. On the pure white matress lay a girl, about eighteen years of age. Her auburn-colored hair, much like the King's, lay fanned over the white pillow. She was wearing a slightly pink-tinged dress which would've hung from her shoulders if she had stood up, with red ribbon snaking through the hem of her puffed sleeves. It reached down to her knees at the front and to her ankles at the back. Red satin ribbon curved around her right leg up to just below her knees. An eight-pointed golden star glimmered at her throat. (A/N: It's the princess outfit in the second movie, minus the wings and ballet shoes. 'nuff said.)
Thick eyelashes peeked from underneath delicate auburn bangs, and her cherry-red lips were curved into a slight frown. Pale porcelain-colored hands were folded across her stomach, and her chest heaved up and down an the motion of deep sleep.
When you find her, well, you--
He sat down on the edge of the bed and steadied himself by placing a hand on either side of her waist. The rider then leant down and kissed her, pressing his lips to her rather cold ones.
Her eyelids fluttered open as he watched, and stunning emerald-green eyes came into view.
She blinked her eyes sleepily, before widening them and staring back at him.
- o -
"K-Kami-sama!" she yelled, sitting up and scrambling away from the man. Who was, if she looked closely, was pretty good-looking.
"Not the reaction I was expecting," he started, standing up and brushing off his clothes, "but you're awake."
"What?" she asked helplessly, heart still pounding at the sight of a stranger (not to mention a very handsome one -- oh come on get a grip) in her own bedroom. "W-Who are you?"
"Li Syaoran, crown prince of the Li Kingdom," he said tonelessly, walking around the bed and throwing open the glass windows. "You?"
She frowned. Rude guy. "Kinimoto Sakura, princess of Kinimoto Kingdom. What are you doing here?" she demanded, clutching the white bedspread.
"Sakura-hime, I came to wake you up."
She rolled her eyes. "Uh, yeah. As if I don't wake up every morning, Li-san."
"You didn't wake up for a hundred years," he said boredly, now tying back the pink curtains to the frame of the windows.
"What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said."
The urge to strangle this guy was getting stronger and stronger by the minute, Sakura realized. She narrowed her eyes and took a good look at her...waker. Uhm. Okay.
He was about twenty years old, with unruly sienna hair and piercing amber eyes. He was wearing a simple white longsleeved shirt with a yin-yang symbol embroidered on the upper right chest, and loose brown trousers gathered into sturdy tan leather boots. An ebony-black coat was tied around his neck with a simple silver chain, and on the fourth finger of his right hand glimmered a band of silver.
She yawned and rubbed her eyes, trying to remember what she was doing before she had fallen asleep.
"Xiao Lang Li!" she yelled angrily. "What the heck were you thinking, preten--..." she trailed off, horrified at the thought.
"Yes?" he turned to face her, face blank and devoid of emotion.
If she had been asleep for a hundred years...then it meant that her closest friend --- even past that point --- Xiao Lang, of the neighboring kingdom...was dead...
...then who was this guy who looked exactly the same?
- o -
Kashin Shourai - Magical Fire
Kami-sama - God
-hime - princess
Should I continue?
Read and review. Flames are accepted.