“Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo…”
Hmmph! Yeah right! I may be a princess, but I have no time for boys. I wish I could make my mother understand that, but NOPE. I have to get myself gussied up to go to some ridiculous ball and slowly die of boredom while one vapid male after another takes my hand in their sweaty one and tries valiantly to not step on my feet while making our way across the polished marble floor of a too-opulent chamber in our too-large palace.
All I want is to be left alone with my thoughts…I want to escape this gilded fortress and feel the sun on my face, see the vibrant greens of the grass and trees, let near-invisible bugs tickle the light hair on my arms. Instead, I am largely relegated to the public role of royal ice sculpture, the picture of sheltered modesty, eventually getting wed to some dullard who I can barely tolerate, who will do his level best to make me have a child every year, until I die like some old worn-out cow, unloved and quickly forgotten. Just like all my forebears. There is supposed to be dignity in this sort of life that is a mockery of life and living, if you ask me, and I know you didn’t, but I’m very opinionated, so there. I can’t see it at all. I’ve always felt I was meant for more…
And this is why I decided once again to make a run for my favorite place.
God, I thought I heard someone coming. I guess I should be paranoid. If anyone caught me out here, I’d get grounded for what I’m wearing let alone leaving the palace without prior permission. I get so tired of the stiff, formal gowns. I just want to relax once in awhile, and it’s summer! Perfectly reasonable to dress in a simple skirt over a slip, and my lace-up wedges. I’ll be damned if I wear a corset in this heat.
Ah, what I wouldn’t give for this freedom every day of my life. Curse my so-called fortune at being birthed into this mythical upper echelon. “Royal blood”, what the hell is that? Like my blood has gold streaming through it or something. What-ever.
Oh yeah, shoes are off! Now I’m really relaxing…oh, if only you could know how good this feels. Those people who talk about the little things are so right. This place is so beautiful…
Oh, damn it.
“ANGELA!” Jesus, her voice carries. I could swear she was right next to me if I couldn’t see her from a window on the uppermost floor.
“What did I tell you about that ‘What!’ And it’s ‘Your Majesty’, you should know better by now! Get inside, the dance instructor is here. You know you’re not supposed to be outside without permission! And what on earth are you wearing?”
“Clearly nothing you approve of, Your Majesty!”
“Don’t be so smart! No wonder all those boys are scared of you. I wonder that we’ll ever get you married off. Now get in here, and pick up your shoes! Don’t come back inside barefoot!”
“Yes, Ma–sorry, sorry. Your Majesty.”
So much for a spot of real fun. I’ll just ‘accidentally’ step on every guy’s toes tonight and then go into the gallery and have a secret laugh. That’ll work, I suppose.