Princess on the Run

Chapter 1

"I celebrate myself, and sing myself, I exist as I am, that is enough."

-Walt Whitman

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A muffled thud echoed through the castle halls, followed by a string of muttered curses that would make a sailor blush. Guards scrambled towards the sound, their polished boots slapping against the marble floor. Bursting into the opulent ballroom, they found Princess Isabella dangling precariously from the wreckage of a crystal chandelier.

A sheepish grin, more dust than triumph, spread across her face. "Uh, oops?" she offered, as the guards stood there, looking at her with defeat.

With a wince, Isabella pushed herself off the chandelier. She noticed a few scratches along her elbow but dismissed them without any further thought. A cloud of glittering shards swirled around her, catching the light like a miniature snowstorm. Dusting herself off, she offered a placating smile to the guards, though it did little to quell the growing sense of dread in her stomach. She knew she was definitely screwed.

She stood awkwardly in front of her parents a few minutes later. Their expressions were a storm cloud waiting to unleash. The Queen, usually the picture of regal composure, pinched the bridge of her nose, a strand of pearls slipping down her chest. The King, a man with a booming voice and a warrior's build, simply sighed - a sound that resonated through the cavernous hall like a low growl.

"Isabella," the Queen began, her voice laced with weary exasperation, "care to explain what foolishness you have involved yourself with this time?"

"Well, Your Majesties," Isabella began, her voice a touch guilty, "it seems that I... misjudged the sturdiness of that chandelier.

The King's sigh deepened, his face etching into a frown. "Isabella!" he boomed, causing a flock of startled pigeons to erupt from the high windows. "You could have seriously injured yourself! This... this is simply unacceptable!"

Shamefaced, Isabella scuffed the polished marble floor with her slipper. "I know, Father. I apologize. I was just... practicing my balance."

The Queen's lips twitched, a flicker of amusement battling with her annoyance. "Balance? In the middle of the ballroom, atop the most expensive chandelier in the kingdom?"

Isabella hung her head. "Perhaps I got a little carried away."

The King rubbed his temples with a weary hand. "Isabella, you know how important it is to be graceful and composed. A princess must conduct herself with dignity."

She mimicked her fathers words along with him, having heard them more times than she could recall. "Of course, Father. I'll try to be more... graceful... in the future." Internally, she grumbled. Maybe practicing archery wouldn't have resulted in such a spectacle.

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The last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the room in a serene, golden hue that spoke of endings and quiet beginnings. Isabella, her silhouette outlined against the darkening sky, perched gracefully on the window sill. She felt the day's residual warmth seep into her skin, a fleeting comfort against the cool evening breeze that tousled her hair.

Beside her, sat Mary, her Maid of honor and best friend. With practiced care, she tended to Isabella's scratches, the sting of antiseptic a sharp contrast to the soothing twilight outside. Isabella winced slightly, her thoughts drifting amidst the fading light and the imposed confinement of her week-long grounding. Just great, she thought wryly, her gaze flickering to her phone where she mindlessly scrolled through her contacts.