1888
The halls of St. George's Chapel inside Windsor's Castle thrusted wind from the open front doors. Once, this was Princess Anastasia's childhood home. Echoes of her small giggles and laughs chasing her siblings– Caspen, Stanley, and Beatrice arrived from the back of her memory. Now, the hails of her boots hitting the checkered floor is the only thing audible. Hundreds of people were walking to the main sanctuary, yet she is the only one to be heard.
Almond tight curls and a black lace mourning veil shield away any tears clouding her face. Her father said not to cry. Royals don't cry. They cannot. Prince Caspen walks next to her, his hands folded behind him, his posture upright, his eyes dry.
As she sat down in the chapel and slid her black satin gloves off, her tears soaked in the base of her mouth, her nose sniffled, her ears fumed. Her father locked eyes from her across the room, both blue pupils swirling hell.
Dukes, duchess, bishops, and parliament members found their various seats, watching the deep red train of the bishop drag on the floor. Once he stepped up the golden stairs, a piece of fabric slid on her lap.
"Dab your eyes," Caspen whispered, looking down at Anastasia, ignoring the one tear falling on her face. "For...Mama. She would not want you to be seen like this, Ani."
The handkerchief rested on the base of her eye, and she couldn't help but release more tears, some spilling onto the dress.
YOU ARE READING
The Plan (EDITING)
Historical Fiction1890, London. Princess Anastasia, stubborn, emotional, and outspoken decides to act on her impulses and injustices planted by her father, the king. Something, by basic morality and decorum, she should not do or think of. Her treacherous idea of how...
