** Sorry it's late, the internet here has been pretty wack these past few days where I'm staying.
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A Break From Routine
My 'separate room', it turned out, was not as separate as I had thought.
"This is it?" I asked Eden, pursing my lips as I eyed the doors leading in and out of the bedroom. One opened into the hallway, another led to the prince's foyer. I finally had my answer to what was through the locked door behind his desk, and I wasn't sure I liked it.
"It was the prince's study, but he had it renovated to suit you," she informed me.
"Why would he do that?" I asked, brows furrowed as I took in the enormous room he had given me. "Wouldn't it be easier to put me in one of the guest rooms?"
"Those are questions for him," she said with a grim smile, "Perhaps he wanted you close."
I shivered.
"Shall I light the hearth for you?" She offered, mistaking my nerves for cold.
"Yes, please."
A week later, I was pacing before a fire in the same hearth.
I had been trying to keep a low profile after my visit back home, only leaving my room for my daily trips to the kitchen. It was hard to tell, but I thought I might have been starting to grow on some of the cooks, though most still tried to avoid contact as much as possible. Even with that progress, the monotony of the routine left me restless before long.
Keeping my body moving could only help so much.
On one of my turns, I noticed a small cream paper sticking out from under the door that led to the prince's foyer. It took several more minutes to gather the courage to bend to pick it up.
The handwriting on the note was impeccable, and I knew without looking at the signature that it had come from the prince. 'Is pacing a habit of yours?'
Could he hear me through the door? I crossed to the little desk in the corner in search of a pen, 'Would you like me to stop?'
I only had to wait a few moments after slipping it back under the doorway, before the note reappeared with his response, 'No, but perhaps I should invest in rugs for your room to preserve the new carpet.'
My lips tilted up on their own before I could stop the action, 'Sorry.'
This time, the response took a bit longer. 'You may feel better if you left your room. Would you consider having dinner with my family and I tonight? I promise everyone will be on their best behavior.'
It must have been my hunger for a break from routine, or perhaps that ever present pull to him, but I found myself writing 'I'll hold you to that promise' on the little paper, my own neat handwriting looking messy beside his swirling scrawl.
Maybe I was just a glutton for punishment.
~*~
I wasn't sure what had been more uncomfortable, the way Princess Evelina– who looked every bit as stunning on an average weeknight as she had the night of the ball, in a burgundy dress that complimented her olive skin and curled, raven black hair– had simply looked me up and down with a blank expression during our introduction, or the way she continued to observe me throughout the meal as if I were some kind of specimen under a microscope.
The younger DiLuna princess, Sienna, a girl who couldn't have been more than ten, had less of the cool calculation of her sister, but she seemed to look to the older girl for guidance. She kept her distance as well.
YOU ARE READING
I'm No Cinderella
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