The Unwanted Princess

Yes I'm Changing

How long has it been since then? I am writing this several years later of course, but after my parents told me about the monstrosity of news I took the first boat back home that night. I remember crying the whole way back to London. I was so overwhelmed with everything going around me, this was just the cherry on top.

I had to tell Simon. There was no way I could keep such a significant truth from him. For one, it was his heritage, his personal legacy at stake. He deserved to know the full extent of his own history, no matter how painful. But beyond that, I couldn't bear the thought of being discovered hiding such a monumental secret from him. His trust in me was already precarious, and I couldn't afford to deepen the chasm of suspicion that lay between us.

The burden of this knowledge was suffocating, and the thought of Simon's reaction was almost as terrifying as the secret itself. What if he saw this as another betrayal, another layer of deceit in a life already marred by it? I could only hope that, in revealing the truth, I would find a way to rebuild what had been broken, or at the very least, offer him the honesty he deserved.

Everything felt like it happened in a sequence. One after another, only explainable by one, simple sentence for each. Such mundane tasks, everyday actions turned into a build up like the pressure from a tea kettle before it screams to be let off the flame.

The boat docked with a final, shuddering lurch.

I shuffled off the wooden planks and onto the cold, unyielding concrete.

I climbed into a carriage back to the palace in silence and stilling fear.

The palace was empty, quiet when I arrived.

The echoes of my footsteps seemed to mock me as I made my way through the corridors.

I reached our chambers and paused at the door, my hand trembling as I turned the knob.

There he was.

"You're back early," he remarked, his voice carrying an edge of surprise.

I felt like I was suspended in time. I opened my mouth to speak, but the words felt lodged in my throat. Simon's presence was so unexpectedly grounding, Yet when I met his gaze I was at a total loss for words.

He stared at me when I failed to respond. His eyebrows furrowed as he took in my complexion in the moonlight. "Were you crying?"

"No." I answered too quickly to be believable.

Simon stepped closer, his gaze never leaving mine. "Elara, what's wrong?"

Silence. Awkward, thick silence. I could hear its ring in my ear, this was my tea kettle boiling over. "Take me off the stove!" it yelped and pleaded as I watched the water bubble out of its spout and gargle its scareams, sizzling on the stove top. "I can make delicious tea!" it bargained as if that would help convince me to spare it. Too bad I don't even like tea.

I shook my head. "Nothing...just my parents."

Simon's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of concern in their depths. "Your parents? What happened?"

The kettle's relentless whistling seemed to echo in my mind, drowning out my thoughts as I struggled to find the right words. My chest felt tight, and I could almost feel the steam escaping from my tightly-held emotions.

"Please, just..." I began, my voice faltering, "give me a moment."

"Okay." His tone was careful and gentle.

The room seemed to close in around me, and I could feel the tremors starting in my hands, each one a physical manifestation of my own thoughts. I tried to steady my breathing, but it came in ragged, uneven gasps, like a train struggling to keep its tracks as it came to a hard stop.