I got bored of the garden, though I always annoy Father about how unorganized it is, he never lets me be in charge of anything. 

I hurried up the stairs, knocking on Father's door before entering. He was on the telephone per usual. I cleared my throat making my presentence know. He turned around and raised a finger at me mouthing, "Just a moment." I rolled my eyes.

He finished talking to the person of the other side of the telephone, something about land arrangements then spun on his chair finally facing me.

"What is the meaning of this interruption? he demanded. "The garden." I said firmly. "This is not the time for that conversation." he dismissed me.

"But Father everything in that garden is either overgrown or dead because you won't let me-" "Enough." he bellowed. "Your brother will be here shortly, and I don't need your attitude this negative for his arrival. You're dismissed."

I left his office without another word. I was furious. Just because he is a king does not give him the right to dismiss my emotions.

And why was my brother visiting the castle? Eric hadn't been home since Mother's passing. I went to the stables and gabbed a horse to ride on along the vineyard to take my mind off everything.

I noticed the grapes were ready for picking but I dare not ask Father about trying to pick them myself knowing his uncontrollable temper and overprotectiveness towards me. As I continued down one of the paths, I watched the grape leaves as I went by. The way they glowed when the sun hit them just right and dew falling from grapes from the morning mist. It was peaceful in a way I hadn't experienced many times before.

I leaned my head on the horse's neck, gently stroking its white mane. Something caught my eye. Along the trees I noticed a figure sprinting behind them. 

It was a man. He hurried behind one tree and then the other knowing I had spotted him. He was not dressed like a royal nor looked like a commoner. He wore a satchel across his right shoulder and was dress in dark clothing, but the most noticeable thing about him was his dark curly hair.

I signaled the horse back in the direction of the castle. I tied Bartholomew (the horse, named after Father) to one of the pillars on the front steps, not having time to put him back in the stables.

I burst open the front doors. No one was in the downstairs living area. Out of breath I yelled, "There's someone in the vineyard."