The Olympics. A time when athletes from around the world arrive in one setting and play their respective sport, hoping to bag the world for home.
Also known, in her home village, as the one celebration princess Julia actually enjoyed. She was once again sitting in her throne, in the best seats in the stadium, watching gleefully as the competitors warmed up.
The one hundred metre race was about to start, and Julia couldn't wait. She clutched the sides of her throne excitedly, stopping herself from falling forward onto the track. Her eyes were wide and her silvery-black hair was swept about in the hot summer wind.
Maurice, her right hand man, watched her happily. It was so nice to see the Princess enjoying herself for once, not cooped up in her room or out spending money. She shook a little, and gave a small squeak of impatience.
The gunshot echoed around the stadium, and the racers were off. Julia's jaw dropped as she watched them ran across the track, like swans swim across a lake. Their muscles bulging and twisting as they moved with grace and poise, each man having the chance to win.
They were all neck and neck, until eventually one of them sped ahead at the last minute and crossed the finish line.
Julia let out a breath she didn't know she was holding as the racers slowed down. Her chest heaved as she gasped for air, the excitement getting too much for her. She leaned back in her seat and tried to relax.
Oh, how she longed to be on that track. To run beside those athletes, and to maybe have a chance of winning. She was definitely strong enough, with long legs and a history of gymnastics. But alas, her village only let men compete.
And then it hit her. What if she could compete? What if, next year, she disguised herself, and ran in the one hundred metres. Her mind swam with ideas as she argued with herself.
But that was four years away.
The she'd have to practise.
But someone would figure out her plan until then.
Then... then...
She sighed heavily, and slumped further into her seat. It was hopeless, she would never be allowed. Someone tapped her shoulder, and she saw Maurice nod to the stage. The racers were waiting expectantly for her, some looking a bit angry at the winner.
Julia lifted herself off of her throne and made her way down. One of her servants handed her the medals, and she placed them carefully around the winner's neck. The first, second and third place racers smiled gratefully at her, and she felt her anger melt away slightly. Such strong, athletic men...
The rest of the games passed in a bit of a blur. The shot-put, javelin and the hammer were never her forte. She spent the entire time in a daze, with new thoughts racing through her head.
What if... she didn't have to disguise herself? What if... she could enter the games with no hesitation or ridicule? What if... she wasn't Julia?
That night she didn't get any sleep, as she lay awake planning.
She was seventeen.
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