The Prince and the Pauper •Everlark•

Chapter Two: The Prince

Peeta's POV

"Mother, why is it such mandatory for me to wed at this age? Could I not wait a few more years to find someone as I am the last at the thrown?"

My mother, in her crisp, brown dress stands before me, inspecting my suit. She reaches up to redo my tie, making it look correct. So many years with taking lessons from my father and I am not able to do the simple task at hand.

"Dear, it is mandatory for you to wed at this age," she says mockingly. My proficient language took interest in my teachers, who had me reading everything and anything from a young age. My mother pats my chest once my tie is in proper place. I step away from my mother's side and linger in the mirror as it reflects my image.

My suit is cream, the tie my mother adjusted gold with a reflective design. It is the same attire my father wore on his birthday years ago when he was turning eighteen and was to begin the journey to king.

My father has told me the story countless times of the woman he knew his whole life, the woman he loved, but his eighteenth birthday commenced and snatched him from true happiness. His father, my grandfather, refused him to wed a girl of such poor class, claiming his image as king would be thrown to waste. By the end, he married my loving mother. The tale was told to me every time I wished for a bedtime story or simple asked about love.

I was never given the name of the woman, not even her maiden name because my father knew I would go search for her. I was told she was married soon after to a good man who works hard for his family and loved the woman the way a real man should. He also told me they had two beautiful daughters who live in his kingdom. His refusal to answer any further questions foiled me to my core.

"Just you wait, my son. You will know her when you see her, she is the eldest daughter of the one I love," he told me. I fit my eyebrows together in wonder.

"So, you still love the woman?" I ask. As a child, I pester on and know not of when to quit asking why. He chuckles, my dark room filling with the sound of my father's laugh, and nods.

The story I have heard countless times, as I have said. It has been repeated as many times as the question of who this woman he loves has been asked. I was given the same answer all together, so the effort was useless.

I remove the thought from my mind. I sarcastically think to myself that it will be easy to find her, she will come to me like a walk in the woods.

My face reappears in the mirror, I am eighteen, no longer a child with a wild mind. I am an adult, I am of age for the thrown and I will not give up as easily as I think to myself. My complexion is perfect in the glass, my hair is slicked back, blonde and gold in the sunlight. The color of my eyes going from purples to blues as I had no sleep last night, my pupils sit wide.

I shake my head and leave my mother, walking to my bathroom to change. I walk out and down to the ball room. The third day after the birthday is when the first ball is thrown. Accompanying the prince will be princesses, other prince's on their own quest, people of the Capitol and Twelve's citizens. Most I have met before, and am not willing to meet again after I have found my queen.

The many servants in the castle are bustling as they decorate the room and bring platters of breakfast into the dining hall beside the ball room. Most smile to me or congratulate me on my coming of age. I return their smiles and give out thank-you's as naturally as I can.

My legs bring me out one of the doors to the balcony of the ball room. The cement flooring make my steps loud as I cross over to the railing. The white stone holds my weight as I lean over the edge like a child. Pots of bushes and flowers are set about six feet or so apart. Benches are placed between most of them. Where I stand, no bench is placed between the pots. It is far too early for many in the town to be up, but I have always been one to wake earlier than others.