I am not allowed to leave my room until the next morning. Normally, I would never have obeyed my father, would have slipped out in the middle of the night to head to the library or sit in the courtyard. But this time feels somehow different.

For some reason, I can't bring myself to try and disobey, choosing instead to lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Maybe some part of me is done rebelling, tired of the constant battle. Maybe another part is relishing in the small freedom of being completely alone.

Regardless, I stay in my room all night, eventually slipping into a fitful sleep.

When I awake in the morning, Rose is laying out breakfast. Her red hair is in a bun today, a piece of it falling out over her eyes. She brushes it behind her ear and turns.

"Good morning, Ev," she says. "I hope you're well today."

I sit up, wincing when my face throbs. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging on the other side of the room. My cheek is swollen and purple, a huge contrast against the paleness of my skin. There are dark circles under my blue eyes; not the cold blue of my father, but a blue-green, like the ocean on a stormy day.

I have to look hurriedly away.

My face reminds me too much of hers.

After finishing breakfast and getting dressed, I decide to go to the library. It seems like a good place to visit today, as my father rarely goes there and not many people tend to bother me if I have my nose stuck in a book. 

I take the stairwell down to the first floor and follow the corridors, my footsteps echoing off the high stone ceiling. The way is familiar to me, as I walk it almost every day.

I pass by a servant or two, each one bowing low as I pass. I can feel my face redden as they mumble greetings, heads bowed humbly. I can never get used to the way I am treated here. For even though I have grown up a princess, I know I am undeserving of the title.

Entering the library, I pass through shelves upon shelves of books. I run my hand along the spines, reveling in the feeling of soft leather below my fingertips.

This room is dimmed, huge red curtains filtering the pale morning sunlight. Lamps line the walls, flames flickering warmly, greeting me with joyful brightness. In the corner sits a chair that invites me to sprawl down and read, nestled between its arms.

I nod over at Oswald, the castle's librarian. He is a thin man with equally thinning hair, a set of wired spectacles perched on his angular nose. This is a person who always seems to be doing something, whether it be shelving books or organizing papers, copying notes or conducting research. 

Now, he sits at the desk in the corner, shuffling through a few sheets of parchment. He smiles at me.

"Good morning, Evelynne," he says, and then goes back to reading. I'm glad that he doesn't give any flourishing bow or flowery words. I'm also glad he makes no comment on my bruised face.

I turn away from him and make my way to the chair in the corner. The book I had been reading yesterday is still resting on the windowsill, a piece of cloth stuck between the pages.

I open the book and it takes me mere seconds to lose myself in the story that is not my own.

I don't know how long I read. Someone brings me lunch and I eat it quickly, not bothering to put down the book. I get a disapproving look from Oswald for this, but I know he wont say anything against me so I do it anyways.

This book is one meant for pleasure reading, one of the few of its kind. I enjoy these stories the most, reading about the life I could have lived if I hadn't been born into a royal family. The stories are all of adventure, all of action and romance, the hero falling in love and saving the world at the same time.

These people live such free lives, even in the times of struggle finding hope. Something inside of me longs for that more desperately than I have ever longed for anything before.

Rose would laugh at the thoughts running through my head. 

"You want to have been born poor? What an absurd notion," she would have told me.

The heart is often absurd, never seeming to follow logic or reason.

It is well into the afternoon when I hear the door slam open. My book falls from my hand, crashing to the floor. In alarm, I scramble to pick it up, tripping over my skirts and stumbling to my knees.

"Get off the floor." I flinch at the sound of the king's voice. 

Damn it all.

The king looks down at me and, for a second, I feel as if I am the most insignificant creature to walk this earth. He has this funny way of making me feel worthless without saying a word. 

 I swallow down the feeling and pull myself to my feet with a wince, clutching the book to my chest. I can feel where the pages have bent from colliding with the floor. I absently smooth the creased parchment down. 

The king is still staring at me.

"Can I help you?" I ask him, keeping my tone even. The bruise from yesterday still smarts. I turn my face a little in hopes that he can not see it.

"We need to talk about the wedding." The king takes a step so that he isn't facing me, his head turned upwards as if he is looking at the shelves. I can see his hand tighten on the pommel of his sword and my heart pounds.

"I don't see what there is to discuss," I respond, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. My temper will kill me one day, I am sure of it.

Surprisingly, today is not that day.

"I didn't tell you everything yesterday," the king says.

'Oh, this is going to be great. What else can he dump on me?' I stay silent, thoughts tumbling through my head.

"I have decided that in order to choose the most suitable husband for you and leader on the throne, we must hold a tournament of sorts." He sounds almost proud of himself, as if this is the most revolutionary idea he has ever had.

A tournament? Images of sword fights and jousting battles flash through my brain and I wince. The idea of people fighting each other for my hand makes me sick. Knowing my father, the tasks he has each of the suitors do will be nothing short of impossible.

"I..." I have to swallow past the lump in my throat. "I don't know if that's a good idea..."

Luckily, he doesn't hear any defiance in my voice. He simply talks over my statement. "It's a brilliant idea. It will be a way to ensure the future king has every single ability that he needs to inherit the throne. You will have a small say in the matter and I will also be able to ensure I have selected a good match."

With that he turns and leaves me alone, the door slamming behind him. The king's exits are usually like this, abrupt and sudden. Once he has made is point and said everything he needs to, he leaves. I wonder if it's to prevent me from arguing. 

Oswald glances my way once, fumbling with some papers. He pretends not to be looking, but I can tell he is studying my every gesture.

I want to scream, want to take the book in my hands and throw it across the room. Instead I sit down and put the book back on the windowsill. Tears prickle behind my closed eyelids, but I take a deep, calming breath. 

'Be strong. You will not cry about this again.'

There has to be something I can do to stop all of this. But I sure as hell don't know what.

Later, I go and sit in the courtyard. My toes scrape against the dirt and I lean back into the bench, face turned upwards towards the sun. The light is beginning to wane, the pale yellow turning into a vibrant, beautiful red.

I don't know what to think so I just sit there, watching a squirrel bury a nut, watching a robin pecking at the ground, watching the leaves rustle in the wind and the sun lower in the sky.

I want the cool breeze to pick me up and carry me away, over the castle walls and into the darkening sky beyond. I want to blend into the night, to be able to run across the rolling hills and climb the tall oak trees of the forests beyond.

I want to be anything but me.

"Ev?" The voice rocks me out of my thoughts and back into reality. I look over at Rose, who is smiling sadly. Flour is smudged over her dress and across her cheeks.

"You should come inside and eat something," she says to me. "It's not good for you to sit outside this long..."

I nod my head wearily, climbing to my feet and brushing the dirt off of my dress. We walk side by side back into the castle. Rose is quiet, but I can hear the unspoken question between us. 

Are you alright?  What happened today?

"I'm not ready to be married," I say. It feels good to voice this thought to her, to confide in someone that I trust with my life. Her eyes remain fixed ahead and I look away from her, down at my shoes. 

"I know," Rose responds once we make it up the stairs.

What she says next confirms my own fears,  the truth of her words making my heart sink. "But you're going to have to be."