Hail

One

I resist the urge to throw off my shoes and run through the field of flowers. The colors are like a vibrant rainbow at my feet that I wish to be able to dance upon. It is a sight so beautiful and so worthy of a painting that it almost makes my heart hurt when I look on it. I could ask one of the artist to come and make me a painting, but I know that even the most talented brush would never be able to covey completely the beauty I find in this place. It's as though the petals call for me to dance. It is another urge that I refuse. Although I want to believe I am alone and that no one would ever know of this "wildness", I know that Ronan is always nearby watching even when I cannot see him and he is duty and honor bound to tell my father of all of my actions. I do not fault him for it as he has not choice, but I do wish that just once he would keep my secret. I wish that knowing each other for our entire lives would earn me just a bit more secrecy. While running barefoot would not elicit a wrathful response from my father, it would garner his disapproval and I try to avoid disappointing my father on purpose, especially since I seem so easily able to do it on accident.

I look up at the sky and let myself count to five before I adjust my hood and cape to make sure that the sunlight is no longer touching my skin. While I may love the warm feeling of the sun against my bare skin, I know better than to arrive back home with any evidence showing that I have been outside upon my skin. My father has long since given up trying to keep me inside, sewing and gossiping as the other noble ladies, but he still demands my appearance always reflects my station in life. Servants may have tanned skin, even those who are of the lower classes of nobility may have a slight sun-kissed darkness about them, but not the royals. Especially not the royal ladies, our skin is to be pale and flawless. My brother and father could have a slight touch from being outside checking on security or if they decide to go on a hunt or have an archery tournament, but the women must always remain pale. Pale and perfect. It is a saying that I heard come from Beatrice's mouth a thousand times when I was growing up. "Pale and perfect, my dear, you must always remain pale and perfect."

Beatrice was the one who taught me how to take care of myself and my appearance as royal parents often have far more pressing matters than making sure their daughter knows how to keep her appearance faultless. Beatrice had been like a mother for most of my life. She had been chosen to help train me how to be a proper lady. She taught me all rules of etiquette and exactly which ones, as a princess, I was going to be expected to follow. It was Beatrice that I could complain to, that I felt I could be honest with and even though I am fairly certain now that every secret I told to her was relayed later to my parents, it was nice to feel like I had someone I could be wholly myself with without having to worry about being proper. Beatrice was a constant in my life until my fifteenth birthday when her job was considered to be finished and one day she quite simply stopped coming to my rooms. Over the last three years I have seen her occasionally about the castle, but there is a formality between us that was not there before. I wish to talk to her as I did when she would brush out my hair or when she would help me dress, but I know better than to do so. An informal conversation would be a breach of manners, and Beatrice would never stand for a breach in manners.

I hear a bird fly overhead which draws my attention to the position of the sun and I suddenly realize that I must be getting back. Dinner will be served soon and I still have to change into proper clothes as the skirt with dirt along the hem would never do. Being late to dinner is an easy to way to upset father. He is determined that we should all have our dinner together and he insists that if he is able as King of Allame to make it there on time then they is no reason why his children cannot be punctual as well.

I hook my basket of flowers on my arm and grab a handful of my skirts to help me move faster through the field and back to the castle. I resist the urge run, even though the feeling is almost overwhelming. Royals do not run. Royals do not appear that they are behind or that they are rushed. I love to run. I love to feel the freeness that comes from simply letting my legs go as fast as they can, but I know that even if Ronan isn't behind me somewhere watching, there are always eyes looking out the palace windows and they will make sure that any misstep is reported. I used to balk at the intrusion. I would go to my mother and father and insist that I needed some freedom, some privacy, just a bit of space to do whatever I wanted without the watchful eyes of others. Father simply ignored my pleas. Mother stood by his side as usual; however, she insisted that it was all for my safety and how she couldn't stand it if something happened to her beloved children. Her love ended my questions.