Chapter Two: A Crown Too Heavy
To be a princess was to live by a script written long before she was born.
Etiquette and grace were the cornerstones. Stand tall. Chin up. Never look condescending, but never appear meek. Speak eloquently, but know when to hold your tongue. Smile, even when your heart aches. Show no emotion, for a princess must always be composed.
A proper princess knew how to waltz and curtsy, to ride a horse without wrinkling her gown, to fence with the elegance of a swan and the precision of a soldier. She could play the piano, sing in perfect pitch, prepare a full-course meal if needed, and host dignitaries without faltering. And Annelise did all of it—exceptionally.
But excellence came at a price.
Now, she was being forced to marry—not just anyone, but her cousin, Prince Roderic of Viremont, heir to a powerful northern kingdom. The announcement came a month before she fled. Her parents had summoned her to the royal solar, their faces drawn and heavy with burden.
"You must understand," her mother had said gently, though her tone brooked no argument. "Duty comes before everything."
"Even family?" Annelise had whispered.
"Especially family," her father had answered, with that same iron in his voice he reserved for affairs of state. "We are honored to rule, Annelise. And with that honor comes responsibility. Our people must thrive—even if it means sacrifice."
The marriage, they explained, was not to preserve bloodlines—such archaic ideas had long been abandoned. It was a contract. A political alliance to widen Alandra's reach into Viremont's fertile lands and rich mineral deposits. Alandra's mines were empty. Its once-bountiful seas had turned cold and barren. Crops failed despite the efforts of loyal farmers. The kingdom was withering.
Her parents were not cruel. They were rulers who loved their people, who ruled with wisdom and compassion. And yet, they had no choice.
But Annelise did.
"I am your daughter before I am a princess," she had said, voice quivering. "I am a human being before I am royalty."
She had pleaded. Argued. Cried.
But they did not yield.
And so, beneath the storm's howl and the palace's watchful silence, she ran.