Pt. One

I made it back to my room in a blur. My feet, not my mind, led the way. I was busy trying not to cry as I thought about Troi and his too passionate words at the stable. "I love you" and "How could you not know" echoed in my brain and too many times I thought of Troi's lips on mine and I had to fight back the tears harder. Our friendship would never, could never be the same. I closed the door to my room and undid the tight braid keeping my hair from falling apart. I fell down on the floor and cried. My friend. A proper father figure. Short sleeved dresses. My dignity. My life. Gone. All in one day. Rumors always spread fast around the palace and I knew all to well that Troi's words to me would be way to public by tomorrow. I spent to much time taking off my riding clothes and preparing my body for tomorrow's event. My birthday. And the last day of freedom gone. I fall asleep with tears streaming down my face.

Pt. Two

I woke up to the gentle hands of my maids. To early for my liking. They first helped me sit up, even though I didn't need it, so I could properly have my breakfast in bed. Three extra-fluffy chocolate chip pancakes with an assortment of butters and syrups, a fresh fruit parfait, coffee with an even greater assortment of creamers and sweeteners, and 4 strips of bacon and sausage. This was nothing compared to my usual morning breakfast. I had requested to eat less today. My maids all sang happy birthday to me as they waited patiently for me to finish my breakfast. When I did they promptly took the tray from my lap and placed it on a small metal cart I hadn't noticed before. They then helped me out of bed, once again for no reason, and led me into my ginormous bathroom. There they thoroughly scrubbed my entire body with sweet smelling lotions and gave me the equivalent of a shower while I was laying down. They braided my hair into an elaborate up do. Dressed me in a corset, a petticoat, garters and stockings, and under skirt, and finally put a loose-sleeved purple dress on me. The sleeves successfully disguised the scars on my left arm and I was able to lift both of my arms without the sleeves coming down. Finally, they caked to much makeup on my face and they told me I looked like a queen. When in reality, that's the last thing I wanted to be.

Pt. Three

My heels were to high. My waist was to small. My hair was to tight. But apparently I was now ready to be seen by the public. I walked cautiously down the grand staircase with a guard at my arm dressed sharply in a suit with a purple tie that matched my dress. At the bottom of the staircase held back by red velvet ropes were camera men and women, news reporters, townsfolk, and most importantly, the king and queen. The guard stood on the bottom step, as rehearsed, I took my stepfather's arm. never in my life have I wanted the protection of a guard more. I waved at the crowd and plastered on the brightest smile as I waked through the maze of velvet ropes. What seemed like days later my father and I arrived at the platform and podium where it would all go down. My mother, siblings, and step-siblings were close behind us. The crowd is at least a million times the size of the one in the palace and a member of the high guard is holding the sharpest knife I've ever seen and the flash flash flash of the cameras nearly blind me but I wave and smile and wave and wave and smile and wave and smile and smile. It's time for the speech now the speech where is the speech I forgot where is my tongue my brain my lips my teeth it's all gone but I wave and smile and smile and people are cheering and then I see him. In the crowd. Not smiling. Has his arms crossed. Staring at me. Troi. Oh, Troi. And suddenly it all comes rushing back. I say the speech forcing as much enthusiasm and smiles and waves and smiles and smiles into the fakest thing I've ever said in my life of 17 years. Then the king raises raises raises the knife and pushes back the sleeve of my dress. Revealing the arm that wouldn't tear the king's reputation to shreds. No scars here. At least not yet. The king says something entirely incorrect about the importance of this year of my life and the knife and me being a wife and blahblahblahblahblahblahblah. Just as the knife pierced my skin I hear the harsh engines of planes. Everyone in unison looks up at the sky and we all see 6 ginormous planes approaching. A guard screams to "Take cover!" and the knife leaves my flesh and then something falls out of the bottom of one of the planes and I see something truly horrifying. The crest of Rijal.