In and Out of Time

the sun has come

Being the king's daughter isn't all it's cracked up to be. When I was a child, I suppose it was a life most could only dream of having. Endless toys and servants waiting on hand and foot to tend to my every need. Though, I never really cared for the extreme luxuries that came with the title of 'princess'. All I really wanted—craved for—was the attention of my parents.

At that age, the grand responsibility of running a kingdom didn't cross my mind. Only as I got older did I realize why my parents couldn't always be with me. It lead to me resenting them less, they didn't choose this life. Just like I didn't. However, there are some things that just... can't be explained through 'duty' to the kingdom. One evening, long after the sun had set into the horizon, I was wandering the halls.

I often had trouble sleeping and ever since that day it's remained consistent. I knew I wasn't supposed to be awake, let alone taking adventures around the castle. So I tried my best to be quiet, tiptoeing towards the noises. I peeked my head around the corner, lighting spilling out from the study room. I smiled as I knew my father was awake. I didn't often get to see him during the day so he would—sometimes—let me sit with him at night, after lots of convincing.

My feet pattered softly across the floor, not enough to be heard, light enough not to echo. My smile fell as my eyes landed on the scene. My father was indeed awake but... he wasn't alone and that certainly wasn't my mother. My hand flew to my mouth to stop the gasp waiting to escape my lips. I can still remember how my feet carried me on their own accord. I ran to the forest just beyond the property.

Waiting until I was at a far enough distance that my cries wouldn't be heard. I was too young to comprehend the full scope of everything but I wasn't dumb. My father and mother were supposed to love each other, they said they did, but that wasn't love. I didn't need to be taught that, it was in my very bone fibers. I told my mother the next day but she brushed it off.

To this day, I'm not sure if she just didn't believe me or if she didn't want to accept it. Maybe she knew all along and just felt she didn't have a choice. He's the king after all... not really much you can do. I began to stay out the house more, running off alone to be with my thoughts. It felt like everyone had a part in this illusion of what our life was. I felt betrayed by the very people that had raised me from an infant.

And then my mother died, shortly after giving birth to my little brother. The house was quiet for weeks on end, well, except for the incessant cries of the child. It's as though the knew, there was almost nothing we could do to soothe him. The day of the funeral was a hard day for everyone. Many people I didn't know came to offer their condolences to me, well, to my father.

It was the first night the baby slept all the way through. I suppose putting her at rest gave him a sense of peace as well. I was the only one who didn't get sleep that night. I crept out under the light of the moon, the skirt of my dress clutched in my hands. I ran over to the little place in the woods I would escape to as a little girl. My mother had caught me there one time, scolded me for being so far from home.

Afterwards she smiled, stood next to me and stroked my hair as I sat on the ground. I found myself staring at the very spot, feeling the coldest I'd ever felt. I fell to my knees and I screamed. I screamed until there was no more breath in my lungs and my voice had gone hoarse. Then I just cried silently, leaning over the edge of the little broken fountain there.

My mother always told me there was purpose to everything in life. I have yet to find a reason for her to have been ripped away so soon. As I make my way back to the house, I groan deeply to myself. I brush my hands off on my pants as I hear the bell ring. They always do this, ring the bell for me to come home, it's so embarrassing.

As if I have no sense of time or like I'm not responsible enough to take care of myself. I enter the back door, calling out so they stop with that damn ringing. I peek my head in the kitchen, noticing the absence of servants and I smirk to myself. I quickly scurry over and grab a biscuit, moaning as it melts on my tongue. I shovel a few more in my mouth before brushing the crumbs off and sneaking back out.

As I'm about to pass the foyer and ascend the stairs to my room, my father calls me. I shut my eyes tightly and curse beneath my breath. He hasn't been the happiest man since mother died, he hasn't been much of a man at all. At first I excused it with grief but, over time, I realized he'd always been that way. My mother's charm and hospitality just masked his horrid mannerisms.

I take a few steps back and hum as I clasp my arms in front of myself. "God where have you been, the stables?" he scoffs, his gaze raking over my form in scrutiny. Granted my trousers are covered in dirt spots, and my shirt may have sweat stains on it, but what does he expect? "Actually, yes. I was tending to the horses" I answer calmly. "I've told you not to bother yourself with such things. We have people to do that" he reminds me.

"It brings me peace" I tell him and he shakes his head, taking a sip of tea. "Ever since your mother died, you've just gotten stranger and stranger. Well—if you wanna be a stable hand—so be it" he grumbles, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. I turn around and before my foot hits the first step, his voice rings out again. "Make yourself useful and bring me a bottle of mead" he demands, "yes, father" I mutter.

That's yet another habit I thought he developed after my mother's passing, the drinking. It was funny growing up, seeing him do all sorts of silly dances. My mother made sure to keep him in check but now his thirst is insatiable. Dare I say, our cellar is full to the brim with alcohol specially made for him. I quickly strip myself, slipping on a comfortable but appropriate dress for the house.

I don't bother putting on shoes as I quietly run down the stairs, easily avoiding all the creaky spots. I make it to the cellar and grab the big bottle, delivering it to him swiftly. He mumbles sone form of reply but I don't really listen to it. I return to my chambers, disrobing and slipping under the covers. I can't remember the last time I'd ever left the property.

I should ask to go into town tomorrow. He may not let me but he also can't force me to stay. After all, he doesn't pay much attention to me either way. I hum the soft lullaby my mother used to sing to me as I close my eyes, it's the only thing that soothes me at night. As my eyes get heavier and my thoughts begin to fade. I feel hope that tomorrow might just be a good day.