Our Fallen Kingdom {DNF}

Chapter 4: La Lune

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"Now?" George asked, looking around, eyes searching for Haitie with a secret cry for help hidden in them. 

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Next week was so long away. So very long. He didn't lose hope. He did his work, nodded his head and made people happy. Followed the plan.

He had minimal conversations with his father and remained civil with his siblings. He had to try again. He had to keep trying.

His brother, now fifteen, was starting to be educated on further topics with George in his lessons. This comforted the brunette because then his father's attention was occasionally diverted to someone other than himself, giving George a break.

Question after question. Book after book. George completed it all.

As he did so, all he thought about was Dream. His kind words and his even kinder actions. The way he spoke softly to George and tried to make him laugh.

His attention was reverted back to the lesson as his father asked him a question. He answered it flawlessly and his father nodded at him in recognition. George was taken aback by the action, his father rarely shows pride, but he kept a straight face and looked back down at his book. He didn't want to say, do or breathe in a way that would get him in trouble.

As the lesson ended, he thanked his father and hurriedly left the room, almost sprinting to his favourite place; the Palace gardens. It's the closest thing to outside that he's freely allowed to explore.

The tall, overgrown grass and the pretty array of colourful flowers. Most of them were different shades of blue, requested by the Prince himself; it was his favourite colour after all.

He sat on a decaying wall by the dainty pond at the far right of the garden. He'd do this often, it was the furthest away he felt he could get from the castle. And it was a place that has almost-comfy seating arrangements.

It's blanketed by a drooping willow tree, the tiny pond and the broken wall. The shade from the leaves brings George a comforting sense of serenity and the only other person he's told about his tree, is Haitie.

They used to be close. Really close.

They would arrange to meet at the willow and duel with miniature wooden swords until they were both breathing heavily and tired. They then would lay and talk about the stars and fantasise about life outside the ugly walls.

Haitie would always come up with the same story; she'd meet a boy in the village and they would marry and have a pet pig. George would laugh each time and tell her that, "Having a pet pig is nonsense."

"That's the most realistic thing in that story and you know it, George."

She doesn't mean getting married. They all know that they would have arranged marriages and marry those they're told to.

Haitie was talking about the lack of freedom and the will to do what they wanted. She knew they wouldn't roam freely.

The walls were there to protect them yet she couldn't help but feel entrapped.

The brunette remembers a time when he thought that way and a part of him still does. Just as you get older, you realise you have no choice but to accept the confinement then to even attempt to fight it.

As he stabbed at the ground with a stick he'd picked up, there was a distinct rustling of leaves that told him someone was there, trying to enter his safe haven.

"Who goes there?"

"It's me, George."

Haitie.

"Come in then."