Stories I Will Never Write

Princess

I storm out of the throneroom in a flurry of heels on stone and swishing skirts around my ankles. My handmaiden, Merie, hurries after me but I pay her no mind. I stomp past servants and nobles and soldiers in the halls as I make my way to my room. Only once I slam the door behind myself in the most satisfying way I can do I let my anger reach my voice.

I scream in frustration and pace the room, my steps causing the rug to bend. I snatch a delicately embroidered pillow from my bed and throw it at the wall. I yank another one from its place and do the same. I scream again and pound the bed. The king's words come back to my mind and they anger me even more.

"Lorinda, if you ever bring this up to me again, I will marry you off to a Dertian prince and send you away to never return." His words cut into me like swords of ice. They brought pain and, with it, fury.

I am a girl. I know that. A woman's place is sewing, cooking, caring for the children. That's the role a lady plays in the house of a man. Any woman who cannot or will not fulfill those needs is never accepted into a marriage and grows to become an old maid.

Why does a woman have to do that? Why can't she be something more, outside the house? Why can't she be a soldier? Or a ruler? Peasant women farm like men. Why can't I walk around in pants and a loose shirt with a fancy sword at my hip like a man? Why do I have to learn to sing and dance and look pretty and dainty. I could if I really wanted to. I can be a princess and a general. My father always said his queen was the real ruler of the kingdom. She was as wise as the eagles that soared over the land and watched over it. She was delicate and precise and how did that serve her when the time came she needed to defend herself all alone? She died!

My bed is completely unmade now and looks like an elephant broke into my room and slept here for a few hours. The door opens so softly I almost don't hear it and I fling another pillow at whoever enters. That's one thing I have almost no shortage of: decorative, good-for-nothing pillows.

I slam my fists against the bed and they spring back to me. I drop to my knees on the soft blanket that has fallen onto the floor.