Hey guys! This is just part one and two together, so nothing new. I will change some of the ways the main character speaks, though. I will delete parts one and two, so if you want to read those, look here!

For Kyle, a light in a dark place.

My name is Cassie. Technically, my full name is Princess Cassandra Eleonara Ingles of the Sovereign Country of Arken and the Outer Islands, but that tends to be a mouthful for some people. You see, I’m a tad of a big deal in my country, Arken, what with all the parades and birthdays and holidays the people do for my family. It’s a bit of a grand way to live, being the next in line for the throne.

I’m not saying I enjoy it, though. In fact, I don’t. I don’t like it at all. Think about it: every day hundreds of thousands of Arkenian children are doing normal school and normal playing and celebrating birthdays and getting dirty and scraping their knees while I’m studying books a scribe wouldn’t want to read. And to tell you the full truth, I’m going to quit. Yes ma’am, I’m going to pack my things and ride away on the fastest horse we have! I’ll change my name to something shorter than a paragraph, I’ll eat my luncheon without using four spoons, I’ll be a normal child at last!

Normal, and free.

You must realize that the usual perception of a princess’s life is complete hogsquabble. Most people think that being a princess is just as easy as eating cakes and picking daisies, singing to cute, fuzzy animals, and (worst of all) falling in love with some dashing young oaf who’ll only love me for my looks. Well, girls, I’ve got news for you. My daily routine is watertight: I get up at five, get dressed, do my hair, and then read my prayers. At six, I eat breakfast, a hurried ordeal that would be much more enjoyable if I wasn’t reading and responding to letters from the people. Then, at six-thirty I do pre-algebra, a subject I’m sure was made by the devil himself. Then at seven-thirty, I practice the lyre, and at eight o-clock I do my science, one of the things I shan’t be missing in the real world. And on it goes, nine: poetry, ten: basic Fuluin, eleven: geography, twelve: flute, twelve-thirty: luncheon, one-thirty: singing, two: classics, three: drama, four: tea, five: more fan mail, six: supper, and at seven I go to bed and the whole thing starts over again. Still dreaming of that pretty little crown, ladies?

I’m woken up earlier than usual today and rushed into a hulking monster of a dress with a bottom too big and a middle too small. “It’s right pretty marm!” says my servant, “I wish I could wear a dress loik that!” A sense of sadness is in her eyes I just can’t place. But still, she’s one to talk. Next I’m fed breakfast at a record-breaking speed. There’s obviously an event today that was not on my mental calendar. After my servants are done handing me cakes faster than I can eat them, my bustle is bustled into the dining hall where their royal majesties Mama and Papa are eating breakfast.

“My daughter!” boomed Papa. He is known to Arken as Prince Phineas. He stretched his long arms wide in an open embrace. “Today is a special day!”

Oh dear. I brave a sigh of exhaustion and ask what’s so special about it.

“You remember that nice Prince Whatsit at the Society of Kingdoms meeting you went to last month?” His Laaric accent is speckled with guttural R’s and buzzing S’s.

This is going downhill quite fast. My father is always trying to prove that there is a boy in the Realm that I will find, quote-unquote, “attractive” (gag), and it has been a priority of mine to prove him wrong. Really, if his majesty wants me to believe a word he says about “the romantic human nature” then why does he go to the trouble to give me lessons in logic? All this rubbish is going to be over when I enter the real, logical world.

“Yes father, but if you’re going to spout off about all that betrothal stuff, I’ve told you that I’m not for it.”

The Queen smirked into her teacup. The Prince groaned. “I have told you before, that when I married your mother, she promised my homeland and that we would betroth our eldest to one of their royals. It is simply a matter of keeping our word. My country has-“

“Done this for centuries, so you have said. But I’m not going to promise to spend the rest of my life with some boy who has no idea who I am.”

The Queen was amused. The Great-Prince wasn’t.

“Well, Cassandra, I’m sure I know your opinions on the subject, but no matter what, you are to be betrothed. You will be meeting that boy, a nice boy at that, in an hour.” I open my mouth to interject but Father interrupts my interruption. “And I don’t want to hear a word about it from now on!”

How very… distasteful. Blech. Do you now see what I live with? Every day, expectations I don’t want to live up to are being put in my face like a bouquet of flowers with a noxious smell. I’m exasperated with this dictatorship! But I can’t lose it now, not when I’m so very close to my freedom!

“Yes, Father. Forgive my passion. I will meet him. I am sure he is wonderful.” I try to give him a sweet smile, but I fear It comes out with a mite more disgust than I calculated for. Nevertheless, Father meets my forced smile with a genuine grin of his own. “Wonderful. He’ll arrive in thirty minutes, and the servants will do whatever it is to make you look acceptable. I want you to be on your best behavior.”

Such is the life of a princess.

Father now looks at me with pride and straightens to a regal position. “You are the great masterpiece of my life, my Leijonitza. I am confident you will be a great Queen when the day comes.”

Leijonitza. The Laaric word for Lioness. That is what he has called me since I cannot remember when. And that is what I am. “Thank you, Father. I will try my best.”

My smile fades a bit. I hate lying to my parents: I know I will not be Queen, I know I will pass the crown on to the next in line, my father. I will abandon the royal life, and soon.

Mother rises, and Father exits the hall in his slow, royal way. The Queen gives me a soft smile. “You know, of course, he is doing everything for you, and for Arken. You are the Crown Princess, the leader of tomorrow. And,” she looks around as if in fear of someone listening. “I felt the same way about betrothal when your grandmother wore the crown. If it was up to me, I would have ruled alone. But your father was, and is, the love of my life, and you are the beautiful result. Do not build walls on the road of your future.”

“Yes Mother. I will certainly try.”

THUNK. Another lie, dropping into my belly from my mouth like a stone to a well. Mother leans forward and gives my forehead a kiss, then walks away. I do not immediately rise, for my mind is still heavy with my Mother’s words.

“The road of your future.” I have heard the story of the foolish boy who built walls on the roads he walked, only to find that the road went before him no matter where he turned. But is it my destiny, my destination, to be Queen? No. I will try harder than the boy in the story. I will go beyond my future, my heritage. I will look up from my road. I will look up, and I will fly.