Runaway Royal

01

I nod absentmindedly as my mother talks about the ballroom decorations, rambling on about choosing between rose gold colored curtains or silver ones. Looking out the window, I stare out at the large expanse that is the royal garden.

"You should be paying attention," she chides, a disapproving look on her face. "This is your ball, after all."

Turning around, I put on a practiced smile to satisfy her and reply, "I think the rose gold ones would be better. They would match the theme."

My mother's lips are pursed as she sighs, upset with my behavior. "Would you like satin ones?"

"Satin is fine," I agree, even though I couldn't care less. I've been to enough balls to last me a lifetime, and I didn't care much for planning them, either. I especially didn't like how this ball was dedicated to my eighteenth birthday.

The maid notes down everything I say on a clipboard neatly, her eyes darting between my mother and I as we discuss the details. 

"Shall we get new chandeliers, too?"  

I glance up to the ballroom ceiling, which is decorated with painted art and gold furnishing. The chandeliers are clear crystal, glinting as they catch the afternoon sunlight. "No, I think they're fine."

"Hmm," is all my mother says. 

"Are we done yet?" I ask impatiently. My mother loves to plan these balls and waste my time, acting as if my opinion was ever important. And the one time my opinions do matter, I don't really care.

I don't want to turn eighteen, because I know all of the complications that follow. I know all the demands that will come at me, and all of the new expectations that will be weighing down on me. Despite how confined my life is right now, I can only imagine how much worse it can get.

"No, we still have to decide on floral arrangements." Turning to the maid, she says, "I think we should order rose gold chandeliers to match the curtains."

The silence that follows is punctuated by pencil scratching as the maid erases my decision and replaces it with my mother's instructions.

"There's no need for all this hassle, mother."

My mother fixes me with a steely look, her grey eyes piercing. "It's your eighteenth birthday. It has to be magnificent, and you have to look perfect."

"I don't want-"

"You need to look perfect for your future husband."

My lips press in a flat line and I look away from her, staring at a blank spot on the wall. We've been avoiding this subject for weeks, and I was trying to pretend that it would never happen. 

"Are you still upset?" My mother's voice is tired, incredulous. 

"No." And it was the truth, because part of me always knew what was going to happen. I was conditioned my entire life to believe that I would be married off to some prince once I was of age. It was my responsibility since I was the crown princess.

"You clearly are," is all she says.

I stay silent but smooth out the wrinkles in my floral day dress draped over my velvet seat. The day is warm as sunlight shines through the large french windows, and all I want to do is leave the ballroom and go back to my room.

"That reminds me, we need to pick out a dress for you!" My mom exclaims excitedly, smiling. "I'll have a new tiara ordered too, you need a new outfit." I don't bother arguing with her on this, because I know her mind is completely set. 

"We'll have to send out invitations by today night," she decides, "I'll make sure to send it to all the available princes."

"There are princes still available?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. Hysterical laughter threatens to burst out as I listen to my mother. From my research, it seems that most princes are all either already married, or too old for me. 

I had been hoping that there was no chance of an arranged marriage if there was no one available. 

My mother only smiles down at me. "Let me take care of the matter of finding you a husband. I only do hope you'll be more excited when we're planning your wedding."

Sometimes, I wonder if she ever had any other plans for me. All she talks about is marriage, and had been preparing me for it my entire life. I wonder if she ever loved me as a daughter, instead of a girl she can marry off to a rich prince to save our country.

She can clearly tell that the talk of marriage isn't making me any happier, so she sighs. "You may go," my mother says, dismissing me with a careless wave of her hand. "I'll take care of the rest."

I pick up my skirt and stand up, striding across the ballroom. It was rare for my mother to release me like that, but I didn't want to wait until she suddenly changed her mind.

Before I can cross the threshold, she calls after me, "Be sure to look at what I left on your desk."

A sinking feeling immediately weighs me down as I realized she was going to win either way. I couldn't stay here further, but now I didn't want to go back to my room either. Especially not when she had given me something. But all I can say back is, "Yes, mother."

I open the ornate large doors and step out of the ballroom, not looking back at my mother. I know she'll be pleased because she got the last word in. I'm curious to what she left me, but I already know it's not going to be good.

Striding down the halls of the palace, I enter the east wing and bite down frustration at the long path. Despite being a small country, my ancestors left no expense when building the Taylor Palace, which is easily one of the largest buildings.

I finally reach my room and push open the large doors. I have one of the largest suites in the palace, and I pass through two rooms before reaching my study.

Placed on top of my carefully cleaned desk is a single piece of paper, and I approach it cautiously, as if it was going to blow up. I pick the paper up and immediately recognize my mom's handwriting.

There is no title, but the paper lists a few names. They are all masculine names, and I immediately recognize one as a prince.

My legs wobble and I stagger into my chair, reading the list. Henry Clemonte. Charles Harrington. 

How did my mother manage to find so many eligible princes? I didn't recognize a few names, but it was probably because I avoided this topic all throughout my childhood. I didn't want to know about random princes that could potentially be my future husband.

I regarded the entire arranged marriage plan as somewhat of a joke, but this list makes everything feel incredibly real. Part of me still clung to the small hope that every prince would reject me and my mother's plan, though I wasn't very sure how this entire business was going to be arranged. 

A sinking feeling drops in my stomach and I feel nauseous, too confined in this palace. Despite living in one of the largest places in the world, I feel like I can't breathe.

I can't breathe, and all I know is that I need to get out of here now.