Right now, I was in a very awkward position. My almost naked body stood on top of a little podium, female palace workers rushing around me as a few ran with fabric in their arms. Others carried priceless sequences with the utmost care. In front of this little riot stood the most serious woman I have ever seen. It looked as if she gelled her eyebrows she was so stiff. She was a court designer, meant to invent and create the royal dresses. I have worn some of her previous work, and I have no problem with her making my dress. They are always comfortable and akin to my body type. No need for bone crushing corsets in the modern times anymore.

“Arms up,” she demanded, and I did as she wanted of me. With her band, she measured the length between the ground and my arm pit. She threw the number into the air, her assistant documenting the measurement in a book. “Sit,” curiously and hesitant at first, I bend down onto my knees and sat down on the podium in front of her. I was a bit irritated, but not because of her. This was something she had nothing to do with.

Scratch that. It has everything to do with this woman in front of me.

Today is an extraordinary colder day than normal and this woman is demanding me to stand before her for almost an hour with nothing covering me except my undergarments.

The nerve. I am her Princess. I would have her thrown in the Tower for this.

I was in a bad mood.

“So I am seeing it… visioning it… yes that’s it,” she stood in front of me, waving her finger in front of my face.

“What is it you see?” I asked, anxious. I felt as if I was being told my future by a physic with a magic ball and a coloured vail over her mouth. Instead I got a stern fifty year-old whose face was pulled back at birth and stayed there. Like tar.

“Your coronation dress. A perfect blend of royal glamour and your gentleness, Princess. It will be an art work,” she nodded, absolutely satisfied with herself. “Now tell me Princess, for your dress for the Royal Variety Performance: what is your favourite colour?” I hummed only for a second before answering.

“Violet,” her face scrunched up immediately.

“Violet? Well…” the woman contemplated only for a second, her face pulled in a sneer. “I think blue would fit you more… elegantly. Now sit still, I have to take your head measurement,” the woman neared me, wrapping her band around my head. Now I was truly confused.

“What do you need my head measurement for?” I asked as soon as she stepped away to check over the measurement. I untucked my legs from under me and sat normally on the podium, keeping my legs tight together as customary for royalty. There is no ‘crossing legs’ in royalty. Which sucked.

“To make your tiara!” at this I was confused.

“I thought my tiara was inherited?” I inquired, but she shook her head gently.

“It is, but not your tiara which you will wear to the performance. There you will wear a royal forehead tiara, created to your special requirements,” which, in my opinion, was much more special than a priceless artefact that some person made centuries ago because this was personal. A forehead tiara? I cannot wait.

A knock came at the door and one of the maids went to find out who caused the disturbance. She came in rather swiftly and headed towards me, curtsying before addressing me.

“Your Highness, Prince Cornelius wishes to meet with you,” she informed. Well this was certainly peculiar. What did Cornelius want to talk with me about?

“Tell him I will meet him in the gardens,” nodded, she went off to deliver my order. After receiving the word that the designer was finished, I quickly dressed again in my silk dress and pulled on heels. I did not really see the point to heels, seeing as they could not be seen under the dress. I was already so short that heels, not even pointes, could compensate.

I headed towards the gardens, greeting some people I passed by. Not the Royal Guards though. They stand like statues all over the place that if I did that I fear I would lose my voice. When I was little I would try to get them to smile. I once made one of them laugh, and now he’s my bodyguard. Everything works out in the end.

“Cornelius!” I addressed him as I approached his figure, his anxious body sitting near the fountain between my mother’s favourite flowers. He turned towards me with wide eyes, his body completely tense. I quickly look to spot the Royal Guards and realize they were all surrounding the walls. Nowhere near where we were.

I went to sit next to Cornelius, pulling my arm around his shoulders before bringing him close to me. I could feel his twitching, how afraid he was revealed in body language.

“Buddy, what is the matter?” I asked, rubbing his back soothingly as held him near. He was not even properly dressed with a few buttons loose and his trousers not properly aligned on his hips. Why did Bartholomew not make a comment to him about it before?

It was then that I noticed the tearstains.

“You know about… the jet right?” what did that have to do anything? Nevertheless, I nodded in affirmation. “I know who did it,” in that revelation, my eyes widened and so many emotions ran over me. Why was he involved in this? What had he gotten himself into?

“What do you mean you know who did it?” he rose his head to look at me, his face showing is disbelief.

“Are you stupid or something? Why are you repeating my sentence?” I rolled my eyes at the little prince. He was still cheeky, even in a moment of distress.

“Why do you possess that knowledge?” I asked seriously, more concerned. He sighed deeply and shook his head.

“Because I was in on it,” if possible, my eyebrows would have flown off my face they shot up as fast.

“What? You were a part of it? Why?” I was not sure what emotion I was supposed to feel. He shrugged, but more sadly than cheeky.

“Because mom and dad are unfair,” understanding washed over me. This was the work of an upset child who wanted to get back at their parents. Except, we don’t get to do things normally here, so this extreme was the way to go. The sly, cheeky little…

“Bartholomew?” I questioned.

“He made the plan,” Cornelius spoke softly.

“So it was you two?” he took a deep breath and readjusted himself.

“Uhm, no not exactly. I left because I did not want to be a part of it. Bartholomew and our friend did it,” he revealed, keeping his voice low.

“Who is your friend?” at this, he shook his head in refusal. He wasn’t going to rat out his friend. “What did mom and dad do?” I asked instead, figuring that the hurt should be treated first in a case of emergency and clearly Cornelius was emotionally hurt by this. Where was Bartholomew? I had not yet witnessed him today, not even when Mother had come to inform us of what had happened with Father. They were both to leave for the hanger and later attend a press conference. Such quick decisions in such little time.

“Mom’s forcing us to play at the Royal Variety Performance,” he said with tears in his eyes, looking up at me with his glossy browns. The twins, Cornelius especially, were rarely seen talking openly or greeting anyone of their own accord. Only with their trusted were they comfortable, but otherwise it was normal to see their stiff figures roam the palace halls silently. Other times they would have disappeared, nowhere sighted until they randomly pop up when they decide it well. They like controlling their own movements and their own life. Independent by nature, to be supressed to do something they didn’t want to was a nightmare.

They were afraid of people. They were afraid of people’s judgements and opinions and accusations and falsehoods. Introverts by nature, something like this absolutely devastated them. And they were only thirteen, heading to a spotlight that no child should be forced upon.

“Dad’s making you change yourself,” my breath hitched at this. So they had heard, the sly monsters.

“That is not your burden to carry,” I inform him, but he only shook his head and looked up at me. “And it’s just hair,” I shrugged.

“But it is not just that, is it? He wants you to change something that you have integrated as a part of yourself and everyone can see you are happier because of it. Before that you were so gloomy, always moping around, hating Mom and Dad for being royals and forcing the burden of being heir onto you. You weren’t happy, and now… you will have to quit ballet and you won’t be able to go out to be yourself and get smoothies and window-shop at the mall and gossip with the other ballerinas and hang out with Caleb and -” he rambled on, making we feel worse with each word he spoke. But when he brought Caleb into the equation, I could not help but bring myself to ask the question.

“How?!” I demanded, a fire igniting within me. He looked over at me, bored.

“How what? Meaningful sentences would be appreciated,” he retorted.

“How do you know about Caleb?” I demanded again, serious in my manner. He rolled his eyes at me in response.

“What, you mean the guy you have been secretly meeting for years, posing for his pictures and occasionally swapping saliva with? Yeah, I know about him,” he said ever so casually.

“That wasn’t what I asked,” annoyed, he rolled his eyes again at me. He had some nerve.

“Well we noticed how happy you were each time you came back from leaving the palace, so we hired a PI…” I cut him off once more.

“You hired a PI?!” now I was furious. He shrugged it off as if it was nothing.

“Yeah, well…”

“Wait! When was this?” I needed more information. I could see him getting irritated with my constant interruptions.

“I don’t know. It was when you first starting going out, so like three years ago?” my jaw fell at this.

“You hired a bloody PI when you were ten?!” I was furious. Did these boys not have any common sense? “Is he still following me around?” his nervous faraway look told me everything. “Bloody hell Cornelius!” he brought up his hands in surrender.

“You are upset,” he stated simply.

“Really? What gave it away?” I huffed at his attitude.

“I will dismiss the PI,”

“You better,”

“And I will burn all of the photos containing your romantic gestures,” I allowed my head to fall into my hands.

“If Mom and Dad ever saw that…”

“Exactly. I will dismiss the PI, dispose of all the photos and not expose your rather ‘common’ secret to Mom and Dad on one condition,” I cast my glance towards him, curious as to what he wanted.

“Go on,” I ushered. There was so much blackmail on me which I was not aware of. This is bad.

“You will help Bartholomew not get into trouble about the jet,”

“You are asking me to lie to our parents, the King and Queen, about something so serious?” I could not believe what I was hearing. Swiftly, I rose from the fountain and paced around slightly, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Please,” he sounded so desperate and when I turned back to him, I noticed how fresh tears were rolling down again. When thinking of his other half again, his own messed up reality came back to him. They were in so much trouble.

I couldn’t help but cave in, sighing as I covered my face with my hands.

“This is a disaster,” I muttered to myself. Why couldn’t everything just have been perfect? A perfect life is what we all crave for, and we were given the exact opposites. There were so many secrets we were keeping from our parents that it wasn’t even funny anymore.

And Caleb…

What would he think when he found out?