Castor layers the foul-smelling dye on my scalp, and I cringe with each brushstroke, feeling the mix of bleach and chemical burn my skin on contact. I pull away out of habit, and Castor's lips pinch in the mirror's reflection.

"We're almost done," Castor assures, his dark gray eyes meeting mine. He smiles, and some of his light brown hair falls across his face.

I try to return the smile, but it ends up as more of a grimace. Not for the first time, I curse the genes that gave me dark brown roots instead of my mother's platinum blonde ringlets. If only I'd been born more like her, then maybe she wouldn't try so hard to make me into her.

Castor strokes the brush over my scalp once more before returning it to the mixing bowl and setting them both on the dressing table before me. He steps away to strip off the translucent gloves as I stand and cross to the open balcony.

Below are sprawling green fields with red poppies in full bloom, overhead the sun burns in the cloudless sky, its rays reflecting off the surface of Elspeth Manor's Koi pond. Even from up here on the fifth level, I can pick out each blot of color as it zooms under the water's surface; reds, yellows, oranges, and brilliant whites. Each fish is unique in its characteristics, some with spots, others with spirals of many colors, and only one color.

A memory blossoms in my mind's eye as I watch a younger, smaller version of myself laying on my belly by the edge of the pond. Fingers submerged and reaching for a white and black speckled Koi as it coasts through the glassy water. From the corner of my eye, I see another Koi approach, its mouth open as it darts toward my hand. Its oval mouth fists around my fingers, sucking like a baby would on a pacifier. One eye stares at me curiously as I shriek and pull back, hand clutched to my chest as I roll back from the edge.

I laugh at the memory, rubbing my thumb and pointer finger together as I consider how many times I've sat by the pond's edge and let the Koi fish suck on my fingertips. No teeth, just a slight gummy sensation that almost tickles. One of the few forms of entertainment for a lonely child.

Footsteps sound on the stone as Castor comes to stand at my side, his hip pressing into the balcony railing. "Lost in thought?" He asks, strokes of sunlight gleaming against his copper skin. I shrug and spare him a glance.

"Not nearly as lost as I wish I could be," I say, my tone low and regretful.

Castor nods, eyes cast upward at my scalp as he says, "Just because you have to entertain the idea of marriage doesn't mean you have to follow through. Humor them for now, and when you're crowned, they won't be able to force you into anything."

I breathe out sharply and nod, soaking in the relief that his words bring me. In just a few short weeks, I will be twenty-five and of age to begin my own reign. Tonight's ball, and the suitors I'll be asked to entertain, are just a stepping stone toward my freedom.

When I am queen, my parents won't have the power to keep me within these walls or force their archaic ideals of how a queen can't be a true leader without a king to guide her. I won't have to marry anyone unless I choose to, and I'll be able to leave Alcova, the capital city of Quinovia, to see what lays beyond.

"Thank you," I whisper into the quiet afternoon, resting my palm over his. Castor squeezes my fingers gently, just as a brother might do, and gestures me inside.

"Time to rinse your hair."

I cast one last wistful look at the pond as he leads me toward my bedroom. Inside, Kristalina's laying out her make-up essentials at my dressing table, and Elena is unzipping my dress from its garment bag. At our entrance, both look up and bow their heads with respect. I wave it away, uninterested in royal formalities.

Castor and I approach the bathroom. He releases my hand to run warm water into the clawfoot tub and retrieve a towel from the closet. I proceed to slip off my sundress, leaving me in just my undergarments. Castor doesn't blink as he directs my head under the faucet.

It's a welcome relief to have the dye scrubbed from my scalp and a soothing aloe solution applied to my sensitive roots. I can't help but sigh as I wrap my hair in a towel and pin it atop my head. Castor hands me my sundress, and I slip it over my head.

"Messalina!" The shrill shriek causes Castor to take a step back, and myself to cringe as I exit the bathroom.

In my bedroom, both Elena and Kristalina are on their knees, heads bent before the woman consuming all the space left in the room. Her navy evening gown brushes the carpet, pale hands clasped loosely before her, white-blonde hair in a fishtail braid over one shoulder. A small golden, diamond-encrusted circlet rests on her brow.

"Mom," I reply, webbing my fingers together and mimicking her imposing stance. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

My mother's delicate features twist in a scowl, "Don't act coy with me." She urges, striding forward and thrusting a tablet at my chest. I scramble to grasp it, grimacing slightly under her force. "Did you think I wouldn't find out about this?" She demands.

The screen flickers on, one manicured finger stretches out to touch it, and a scene unfolds. Caught on our tunnel security cameras, a sleek white motorcycle zooms into view, the rider dressed in plain black gear. One of the dividing brick walls between two diverging roads disintegrates before my eyes, allowing bike and rider to pass through unobstructed. Just as impossibly, the wall rematerializes in the rider's wake as if they'd never been there.

I pinch my lips together, work hard to conceal my surprise from showing on my face as I meet my mother's frosty green glare. "And?" I prompt, casually locking the screen and handing the device back to her.

Mom stammers in her fury and taps repeatedly at the screen with a pointed nail. "Do you think I don't know that's you? How did you get ahold of an Anoniband, and where did you learn to drive a motorcycle?" Her voice climbs an octave with each question, cheeks turning a crimson red.

I cinch my brows together, "That isn't me."

This seems to only make her angrier as she begins pacing back and forth. "I've had quite enough of your antics, Messalina. You are set to inherit a kingdom, and a queenly prospect cannot be out galivanting without a protection detail." Mom pauses, spins to face me with an unflinching spark in her eyes. "Pull another stunt like this, and I'll see to it that your coronation is indefinitely delayed. Power comes with responsibility, and so far, I'm not convinced you can handle it."

There's an electricity in the air as she finishes, composing herself and flashing me a sugary smile. I tighten my hands, nails digging into my skin as I paste a properly rebuked expression on my face.

"Yes, Mom." The Quinovian Queen tilts her chin up, nose crinkling distastefully.

"I'd much prefer that you return to using the term 'Mother' when addressing me." She insists, tone flat and void of emotion. I bow my head in acceptance, wait in tense silence as she turns with a flutter and floats from the room.

Mother pauses in the doorway, her head turned slightly toward the left, where a dark figure seems to melt out of the shadows. "Tear this room apart, find that Anoniband, and anything else she has hidden away." She orders. The guard nods as she turns away and disappears.

The entire room seems to breathe a gasp of relief, as if the walls themselves had been terrified of the Queen's disruptive presence. Kristalina and Elena rise from the floor, their faces whiter than sheets. Castor exits the bathroom looking withered and green.

The guard approaches, and the black mask concealing his identity retracts into his uniform's collar without a sound. Vincent's dark silver eyes burn into me. His black hair is spiked and unruly as he stops before me. I have to tilt my head up to keep our gazes locked, but I refuse to look away under his reproachful glare.

A long moment of silence stretches between us, and I maintain my defiance to the best of my ability. Vincent's jaw clenches, making the thin scar along his throat outlined against his mocha skin pulse.

"You should've told me; I'd have made sure to wipe the footage," Vincent growls, voice low enough that only I can hear.

I take a few steps back, cross my arms over my chest and leer up at him. "Shouldn't you have already known?" I challenge. "Oh, wait," I pause, add a mocking lilt to my tone, "that's right. You were off at some clandestine meeting with my parents last night." Vincent doesn't deny my accusation, but his eyebrows rise slightly with surprise.

"How do you know about that?"

I scowl. "These halls are filled with gossips if you know who to talk to." I retort.

Vincent scoffs, "There are some things, Essie, that you're better off leaving alone." He snaps. I square my shoulders and jab a finger into his chest.

"Not when they're about me!" I argue. Vincent's fingers are clamped around my wrist in under a second, holding it captive against his chest.

"Enough," he orders, eyes doing a sweep of our audience. "This is not the time or place to be having this discussion."

"That's just an excuse—"

Vincent's fingers tighten around my wrist, sending a shock of pain up my arm. "What I do, Essie, is no concern of yours until you're crowned." He leans in close so that his breath fans my cheek, lips close to my ear. "Drop this, now."

I thrust my free hand into his chest, shoving him back. He allows the action and releases me without another word. I rub my wrist and cast him a bitter look, one that promises there will be more to talk about when we're alone.

Vincent's unfazed as he produces an open palm and says, "Hand it over."

I blink, thrown by the abruptness. "What?"

"The Anoniband, give it to me, or I will tear this room apart." He threatens, and I know better than to think he's bluffing.

Vincent Atherton isn't just the only man able to talk to me as if I'm not a member of the royal family. He's also my personal escort and assigned protector. I've been his charge for nearly a decade, and I know his word is more brutal than any blade could ever be. I also know he's not always so closed-off, so controlled. But those moments are reserved for late nights behind locked doors.

Reluctantly, I cross to my dresser and pull open the top drawer. I collect the clothing folded neatly inside and toss it onto my bed. Elena and Kristalina make discontented faces as they each abandon their tasks to refold the garments.

I can't be bothered to apologize with Vincent standing so close behind me. With the point of a letter opener, I pry at the false wall in the back of the drawer until it pops and exposes a cache of illicit items. Vincent exhales, the sound mingling with the remains of a chuckle as he plucks up a watch-like band with a square-shaped interface.

I watch somberly as he tucks the Anoniband, my last hope of rebellion, inside his uniform, out of sight. Without it, I'm trapped on the manor grounds, unable to alter my appearance or encrypt my microchip to hide my true identity. I'm subject to discovery, unprotected, and isolated from my country once again.

"Clever, I might not have found it." Vincent praises with a wink.

"You would've." I correct him, and he smiles.

"Princess," Kristalina taps my dressing table with the backend of a powder brush. "I must insist that you allow me to prepare you for the ball."

I glance toward the balcony, where the sun is beginning it's slow descent and the sky is turning a milky shade of pink.

"I'll return to escort you just before dusk." Vincent assures, his hand rising to caress the back of my neck.

I nod, refuse to meet his eyes, "Where will you go?" There's a part of me that's hoping he'll tell me all the secrets I know he's keeping from me, another part that knows he never will. Not until I hold the power to order him.

Vincent doesn't respond as his figure slowly shimmers out of sight and he slips unnoticed from the room. 

Sighing, I turn and face my attendants, allow them to pull me into their circle of preparation and fashioning, already wishing I could ride far away from here and never return. 

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Word count: 2212.

Total: 4600.