Creatures chattering outside of your window greeted you in the early morning. You stretched out on your bed, yawning softly as your eyes adjusted to the high sun of the late summer. Outside of your window, everything looked peaceful. It was a strong contrast to the storm inside of you.

You sat up very slowly. Your limbs were lead, your eagerness to get up and move almost non-existent. Your brain racked through escape routes, but each one ended with you getting dragged right back to where you started. Right back here, under the heavy weight of your hateful father, the dreaded pressure of the immortal Galactic Empire, and the harshness of a broken kingdom that had long since lost its light.

Across the room was a single gown, hanging on a hook in front of your wardrobe. Someone in the palace had handmade this and hand-picked it for today. For you. You slowly pulled your nightgown over your head and then paused, staring at the rosy pink gown in front of you. Complete with a wreath of a gold crown and a pair of pretty pink flats, you'd look as helpless as they wanted you to. That was the goal, anyway. To draw in a new bodyguard for you, to pay him to protect you.

You weren't a fool. You knew the reason your father was so adamant about you being protected. He was worried about what you were capable of. A woman with such an interest in the Rebellion was dangerous in a place like this.

And so you pulled the beautiful pink gown over your head, staring at your reflection in the mirror, fingers prodding at the puffy sleeves that hung loose over your shoulders, at the shimmering of the long skirt that dragged on the floor and hid your pink slippers. You were a princess before you even placed the gold crown on top of your head. Beautiful, innocent, helpless. In need of someone.

You left the room with a bad taste in your mouth. As soon as you moved out the doors, two guards were on either side of you, blasters in their hands, ready to fire at a danger that you knew wouldn't come. You pretended that you didn't see them, but their breaths were right on the back of your neck, and it only made you angrier and made you feel heavier. You couldn't escape. Life was suffocating. Every moment of your life was this, being watched and followed and undermined and controlled. Right until you were in the presence of your father, who stared at you with eyes that were void of any emotion. There was no love for the child that he had helped bring into the world.

"Good morning, daughter," he said.

"Father," you said, bowing slightly. "Good morning."

"Come, he will be arriving in minutes."

"Already?" you asked, but your question went unanswered. You followed your father outside of the palace. In the warmth of the morning, you waited in front of the front gates of the palace. This was the only time you were allowed outside, so you might as well make the most of it before you were locked back inside the grey walls of your childhood home.

The mountain sloped downward, offering a view of the pathetic town far below. Supposedly those were your people. People you were told to take care of. But your father had done a pitiful job at acting like a king, and you doubted that they even knew they had a princess living the life she was living all the way up in her palace. The village below was crumbling at the seams, with a temple damaged by a storm, buildings crumbling the their rooftops, and dead trees and dirt paths. You wondered if anyone was left down there aside from the farmers who brought a wagon load of their crops to the palace gates on the first day of every month.

But past the horrible kingdom was a valley of green. Beautiful trees, rolling emerald hills, sparkling bodies of water all catching the morning sun. That was what you tried to focus on to ignore the weight of your body, the weight of the stares, the pressure of the guards that kept your feet planted on the stone walkway beneath your feet.

You longed to go beyond those gates. Not for a chance at adventure like the princesses in your childhood books, but for a chance at life. You dreamed of it every day until your heart ached because you were desperate for the taste of freedom. Freedom was a foreign concept to you.

Your hands were free at your sides, yet you felt more shackled than ever. Unwanted eyes on you. The pressure of your father's expectations weighing you down. Freedom was such a foreign thing; you wondered what it tasted like. Surely better than this bitterness you had to swallow. As the odd looking ship lowered itself in the hangar, your father leaned in close and whispered harshly to you,

"Perhaps don't mess this one up. Understood, little one?"

You stiffened, your eyes on the thick puff of steam of the ship as it landed. Your brand new bodyguard stepped out before the steam cleared, and you couldn't see much of him, but the armor was enough. He was Mandalorian. Your heart hardened more, impossibly so. Another being paid an absurd amount of credits to protect you. Another being paid to keep you locked away forever.

And a Mandalorian, no less. Your eyes flashed with anger but you hid it quickly, casting them to the ground until you could compose yourself. Your father had chosen a bounty hunter to protect you. A killer. Someone else that wouldn't be afraid to lay hands on you if you fell out of line. The Mandalorian came nearer, and you refused to look at him. You hated this. You hated him.

Whether he was unaware or uncaring of your feelings, you weren't sure, but your father stood proudly and stepped forward, gloved hands out and arms opened wide as if he was somehow offering a warm welcome to his cold kingdom.