2. Princess Erralee

two

"What do you mean we should surrender!" Father's voice roared through the locked doors of his private study. Pressing my back against the solid wood door, I held my breath, listening.

"I don't care if I must start sending women with babies on their hips to that battlefield! I will not be defeated!" A drawer, or a door of some sort, slammed loudly. "Never say that to me again!" He hollered so terrifyingly loudly it forced me to cringe through my inhalations.

Next came the shrill sound of shattering glass. More than likely that was his scotch. I shuddered as I moved my eyes side to side, praying his screaming would stop soon. It had been getting progressively worse all week with phone calls, during meetings with private visitors, back to more phone calls. I was beginning to wonder if it was even safe to stay at the palace, with the war getting so close, but Father refused to evacuate. Cowards leave, as Father put it.

I couldn't take it anymore. My nervous system was beginning to show signs of long-term stress. Never ending nights of insomnia, constant fatigue, and the knot that took up permanent residence in my throat. I could only handle so much. I longed to leave.

I had heard Father"s warning about staying inside . . .

I needed a moment alone. Silence. Some fresh air to clear my head. I eased along the wall, careful not to let my heels click on the floor. I hated these shoes with an utter vengeance, but Mother still upheld the stuffy formal royal etiquette rules. Princesses wear dresses and closed-toed shoes with heels. Don't get me started on the panty hose! My nostrils flared as Mother's voice echoed in my brain. I was halfway down the hall and finally safe to pick up the pace to run out the back door.

Slipping off my shoes as if they weren't worth the cost of a disposable napkin, I tossed them carelessly in the grass and raced down the path to the forest. My stress melted a little more with each barefoot step. This is where I was most alive. I"ve explored these woods almost every day of my life. Adoring how the trees echoed with the sound of birdsong, it filled my heart with so much joy and always drew me back to harmony and adventure. Though I believed the true treasures of the forest—the ones that were an ode to its timeless beauty—were found on the unbeaten paths.

I had spent an abnormal amount of time in my youth, hunting for mushrooms. Not because I ate them. I pretended gnomes and fairies hid amongst them. I had every fungus mound memorized with names to accompany them. Storytelling for hours, I would tire, and then sneak into the sun for a refreshing nap. This had been my routine for years, and I couldn't remember it being any other way. Now that I was too old to look for fairies, I still enjoyed an afternoon nap in the sun.

And that is what I positioned myself to do. I made my way to my favorite napping spot, the sunniest place in the field of wild grass. I dropped to the ground, feeling an instant release of anxiety. With each breath I exhaled, my eyelids drifted further down, until finally I was asleep.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but that seat's taken." A deep voice cut through my dreams, startling me from my afternoon slumber.

Sitting up, I arched my chin to get a better look. As my eyes focused, they settled on an imposing man wearing a cowboy hat, a white cotton shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and worn denim jeans, a little too dirty for my taste. But with blue eyes that were more daring than sensitive, he was definitely cute. Okay, the words explosively handsome came to mind, even if he did leave me confused. "There aren't any seats," I declared with assurance.

"Well, yeah that's because it's taken." He raised his tan hand out in a gesture to himself. "You're in my field, and it's all taken."

Confused by his lackluster analogy, I dramatically scanned both sides as exasperation seeded in my chest. Nothing but green rolling hills of prairie for miles around. I was certain of that because I'd been napping in this very spot since I was a little girl. Clearly, this man was playing some sort of game. Even if he was handsome, he was being rude. I didn't care for the way he stood way too close, towering over me. His demanding presence made me want to shrink back, or even race out of here. Except for the fact that this was my napping spot, I stayed. "But, sir, it's an open field."

Anticipating his lips would curl, and he'd apologize for being rude, I was wrong. He held his gaze steady in a more piercing than inviting manner. "Will you please leave?"

I startled for the second time, and scrambled to my feet, taking care not to trip over my bustling skirt. Make me! I yelled in my head, but years of etiquette school had me biting my tongue. Nobody ever talked to me like that! Not that I put myself on a pedestal, but people always respected me. Sharply angling my elbow like a spartan cheerleader, I placed one hand on my hip and fumbled for the perfect reply. One to outwit him. One to outsmart him. One to make him feel terrible. "Well, enjoy being lonely!" I sputtered back. "Good day to you, sir!" I spun on my heel and sped off.

I had been enjoying one of the best naps of my life, out in the fresh air, letting the sun warm me with its lullaby rays. Clearly, this rude man wasn't going to let me be. It was better to leave than to argue with stupidity. I tossed a haughty look over my shoulder, and noisily hmphed back before adding in a mutter loud enough for him to hear, "Some people don't know how to treat a lady."

Was it too much to ask for a little politeness? I crossed the field, heading to the worn dirt path leading through the small forest to take me home to the palace. It appeared even the grasshoppers sensed my irritation because they hopped away, keeping their distance as I stormed right through the field. This was undoubtedly the first time I'd ever been interrupted by anyone, let alone told to leave. I was in complete disbelief as I continued to plow my way into the forest.

Even though the forest was thick, if I looked up, I could make out the palace tower's peak standing on the tallest butte. It was a remarkable feat of architecture, with tall pillars draped in ivy, and pearl-white stone walls. Upon my approach to the palace, I made out the intricate carvings that were a nod to my ancestry. Each upper-level room had its own balcony, giving way to breathtaking views of the rolling countryside as far as the eye could see. It was a true fairytale growing up here, and I—a princess—lived in that fairytale.

That was before the war . . .

I found my shoes before I passed through the first set of guards, and I stumbled into them before they could catch me "indecent." I entered the grand courtyard by way of the symmetrical maze of hedges, and statues of seraphim. There was a faster way to enter the palace, around the back, the way the staff entered, but I much preferred to take in its beauty by way of the front entrance. I slowed even more as I passed by the guards who stood tall by the main entrance, not flinching as if they were perfect statues themselves.

My personal guard, Weston, had already made it back and occupied his post. I never quite understood how he managed to do that, because he always lurked in the shadows whenever I was out. As I passed Weston, he slyly reached into his red coat pocket and pulled out a folded paper. Keeping his palm down, he passed it to me as if it were a covert operation.

Without looking at it, I tucked it into my skirt pocket and continued through the main entrance. I stalled, not wanting to run into Father, and meandered through the chamber, taking in each museum-worthy art piece. Something I did daily when I wanted to kill time, but something seemed off. . .

I halted my steps. Several art pieces were missing, including Father's original Monet landscapes. In their place, perfect rectangles outlined the crimson wall paint faded around the spot where the art used to hang. My eyes drifted down the hall, noting many more paintings had vanished. Van Gogh. That didn't disappoint me as much, as none of his art made any sense to me. But the Bouguereau . . . I paced forward, needing to touch the empty wall for myself. That was my favorite. Where did it go?

What on earth?I scratched my head, and checked back over my shoulder, still in disbelief. If one had needed restoration, the curator would have taken just one. Not an entire row.

Rushed footfalls echoed from the corridor, followed by Mother's inquiring voice, "Erralee, honey, where have you been? Your father's been looking for you."

Pivoting slowly on my heel, I pressed a smile on my lips to greet Mother. "Just off in the forest." Well, until that idiot showed up and ruined it, but you don't need to know about that. Somehow you'd make it my fault.

"Ah dear, Erralee." Mother's brows bent down thoughtfully, but I couldn't ignore the worry line pinned in the center of her forehead. "I had thought you'd outgrow those nature fantasies by now. It's time you thought about your future."

Mother was never one to argue. She was soft-spoken in nature. The perfect balance to my hot-headed father. If she wasn't happy, she would typically not say anything. It was a little jarring she chose confrontation about this now. Sighing, I bit back words of rebuttal and moved closer, reaching an arm out for a side hug. "Ah, mother, I adore nature. There is nothing wrong with that."

"Normally, there isn't." Her thin, red-painted lips pinched as she took a more serious tone. "Your father had a surprise visit from King Aswell. He reigns over an island off the coast of France. His island is filled with mineral mines, and he is extremely wealthy. He has dedicated a large amount of his finances to a very impressive military." Mother gave me a dramatic side eye, tacking on, "He is interested in meeting you." She batted her lashes as if to hint that there was something braided in her words. "He wants an heir and is searching for a wife."

I fought like a pack of famished monkeys left with only one banana not to roll my eyes. Instead, I offered a soft shrug. "I don't see how that concerns me."

Mother's lips held tight, not letting another detail about King Aswell slip out. As if to shift the conversation, she pointed to the stairs. "Please hurry and change for dinner."

Letting one foot slide in front of the other, I dragged my feet in obedience. Mother called after me with a tone of urgency, "And do put in the effort to look extra nice." I didn't check over my shoulder. I understood my charging orders. I also didn't doubt Mother would send Margarette, her lady's maid, to assist.

Margarette had done it. I was a vision of beauty, with my raven hair cascading down my back. She had draped my slender figure in the highest luxury silken gown, which shimmered so much it appeared illuminated as I moved through the glow of the muted dinner lights. I didn't feel like smiling, as I hated to be put on display this way. However, as I strode through the grand hall, and caught my father's proud eye, I forced my lips to curve into a gentle smile.

Normally I sat at the end by Mother. Tonight, I was moved to the other side of the table, between Father and King Aswell. On King Aswell's right was my older sister, Ruenella. She also wore her finest dinner dress, and was adorned with so many jewels, she looked more like the queen tonight. I passed her a knowing smile, as I fully understood her out-of-character attire was Mother's idea.

Ruenella was older than me, shy and quiet in public. She was yet to make a lasting impression on any of the men to whom Father had introduced her. Father never hid his disappointment about it either. Maybe Father had lost faith in her ability to date altogether, because this was the first time Father had included me in one of his setups.

Feeling as though my destiny was on the line—and not in a good way—I took my time as I struggled to walk gracefully. My legs grew heavy, each step more and more difficult to maneuver under the weight of this dress.

My throat dried, and I swallowed when I bravely let my gaze meet King Aswell's. His face was stern, bearing a long, hooked nose. He had piercing dark eyes, and deep lines on his face that hardly softened, contrasted by his straw-like, corn-yellow hair. I fought hard to inhale smoothly as the grin he laced on his lips appeared arrogant.

Father stood; his eyes etched with his you-will-be-obedient look, and he motioned to King Aswell as he announced me. "This is my daughter, Princess Erralee."

King Aswell stood stiffly as he raked his eyes over me. "How do you do, Princess Erralee?"

Wouldn't you love to know, you arrogant, skinny, bird-faced geek. I curtsied, lowering my eyes respectfully. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Please sit." Father's voice was more commanding than welcoming. I took my spot, sandwiched between both kings. I fought to ignore the tingling in my legs. Every inch of me wanted to hightail it out the door. King Aswell didn't waste a moment to lock his eyes on me. "Erralee, your father tells me you enjoy nature."

For the first time since this man's presence was announced, I felt I'd survive dinner. My shoulders relaxed, and I breathed with slightly more ease. "Yes." Being careful not to talk too much, I coined a concise reply. "I feel peaceful when I'm in the fresh air."

King Aswell gave a slow nod, with his gaze so focused it was more reminiscent of how a doctor examines people, than someone trying to get to know me. "On my island," he went on, "we have rocky terrain that isn't suitable for farming. It has been developed into magnificent stone buildings. Some of the most beautiful churches, libraries, and universities. Being more of an intellectual myself, I don't miss the primitive culture that thrives in rural areas."

"Oh." I tilted away from the king, mulling over whether that had been a cleverly worded insult, or not. Deciding to give the king the benefit of the doubt, I pushed past his comment. "What do you enjoy doing in your free time?"

The king straightened his back even more, as he clearly wore his pride in his posture. "I can spend hours every day reading and researching."

"Reading . . . er," My gaze shifted to the side, as I was never one to sit still long enough to read more than a page at once, especially when inside the palace. Each room had large open balconies which constantly beckoned me to go outside. Nature was always more interesting than words on a page. "That's fascinating. I do enjoy a nice photo book of landscapes," I forced out as I shot a gaze at my sister, who was beaming ear to ear.

Ruenella was brilliant, but had allergies, which made her loathe the outdoors. She was dainty in every way, from her pale skin to her so-blonde-it's-almost white hair. She was a romantic at heart, who dreamed of being courted by a king. It was clear to me she was the better match. I gazed at my sister, thankful the king had more in common with her. I nudged my head toward King Aswell, pleading with my eyes for her to banter with him, but bless her heart for being so shy, she just froze, leaving me to suffer through his small talk.

When dinner was over, Father took King Aswell into the library to take part in his nightly tall glass of scotch and a cigar. It was his only vice, and Mother hated it. Even his doctor warned it was time to cut back, but he was stubborn, persisting. What made it even worse was the way it had now become his social function, and he regularly received gifts of the most expensive cigars, and he vowed it was wasteful not to indulge.

I was ecstatic to be excused to my room, where I immediately changed out of my dinner dress into a linen nightgown, wasting no time retrieving the paper from Weston. In the bustle of getting ushered to dinner I hadn't had time to look at it. My lips curled into a grin steeped in awe. An origami bird, folded from silver cardstock. As I moved his head, his wings flapped, and underneath one of the wings was writing in the tiniest print. A secret.

Caged birds whistle for sovereignty behind golden doors while the feral birds soar.

Erralee, never forget you are the feral bird.

X Weston

My lips curled, holding the secret. Weston was one of the few people who understood my spirit. His single mom had been my nanny when I was younger. We grew up chasing each other around the palace grounds like siblings. He's the one man who saw through my royal fa?ade because he'd grown up behind the curtain. I trusted him with my life. He clearly saw what my parents were up to, trying to pawn me off. This was his way of showing his support.

I shuddered as I recalled King Aswell's face. Father had to be out of his mind to even suggest we'd be a good couple. I reread the writing several times before I resigned myself to staring wistfully out my terrace window. If only I had real wings . . . Then I could leave this palace forever, and not be subject to Father's rules. Or at least his selfish schemes. He seemed to forget that arranged marriages aren't really a thing in first-world countries. Mother always acted indifferent, as if she thought he was merely joking, but there was nothing funny about the thought of being forced into a marriage that only your father wants.

I placed the bird in my top vanity drawer, pushing it to the back so the nosey maids wouldn't find it. Then I meandered outside on my private balcony, searching for the owl who had recently built a nest in an older oak tree cavity near the courtyard's edge. He only came out if he didn't see me. Careful to crouch below the terrace spindles, I peered through the vertical slates.

Tonight, he did not disappoint. His eyes glowed gold, his feathers ruffled out, fattening him, while adding to his magnificence. I held my breath, captivated, as he commanded from his nest, so still and wise. Before long, my mind floated to that handsome man I met earlier. Where had he come from? I'd been visiting that spot for years and had never seen him before. His eyes . . . It's like God spent a little more time on those.

They were definitely more alluring than that hooked-nosed king. As annoying as that man was, anything was better than King Arrogant, I mean . . . Aswell.