❊PRIM❊

I dared the sun to warm me to my bones. To erase the inevitable chill that always settled over me after one of my father's lessons and bleach away all signs that I had lived. I was given one hour every day to forget. To run from the shadows that tried to swallow me. And that hour was precious. I could handle almost anything so long as I had my one hour in the garden.

Tucking my knees under me, I pulled out my worn book, a rarity in a world of screens, and found the page I had left off on, eager to forget my life if even for a single hour. But just as I felt my body relax, a sharp whistle sliced through the air, and a knife flashed passed me, inches from my left cheek, cracking into the bark of the tree behind me.

I lifted my head, eyebrow raised, ready to scold. "Your aim is getting worse."

First I was met with silence as I stared off in the direction that the knife was thrown from. But I'd always had more patience than my younger sister and Ignis eventually groaned in protest. "Seriously? I thought I was closer to your face that time!"

A set of bright red hair that is wild and curly, a bloom of fire atop a pale face with sharp blue eyes strode toward me. Her movements far more graceful than her sixteen years, her eyes full of wild mischief. She wore a pair of black trousers and a green blouse. Clothes meant for comfort, but not something that any princess should be caught dead wearing. "You never startle! No matter how hard I try," she grumbled.

I moved my eyes back to my book, the side of my lips quirking up into a smile at her irritation. "Pick an easier target. Aren't you supposed to be in a lesson?" I asked, falling into our daily routine.

Ignis snorted, and rolled her light eyes in irritation. "Technically yes," she responded waving her hand around like she could pluck up an excuse from the air around her.

I beat her to it. "Snuck out?"

"Yep."

I did my best to keep my jealousy to myself. If I had done such a thing, I would have been punished. No future queen was allowed the freedom that my sister was so freely given. "What was your reason this time?"

"The lesson was boring." She slumped ungracefully onto the marble bench next to me, and I only had a moment to yank my book up before she laid her head in my lap, a pout on her face. "I want to skip the lady lessons and go right to the fighting lessons. I'm better with punching anyway!"

"That isn't very ladylike," I said, unable to keep myself from smiling. Ignis had always been able to thaw me, even in the darkest places of my heart. She laughed freely, her voice filling the garden with light and joy. A happiness I so deeply craved. I leaned into her laughter, allowing it to wrap around me, hoping was enough for both of us.

"You are one to talk!" She said in between laughs. "Remember the time you dressed like a boy and tried to sneak out of the castle?" My face flushed red. I look away, embarrassed that I had her as an audience for my shame. For my moment of weakness when I tried to run away from this life.

"I would have made it if I hadn't brought you along Ignis." I tucked away the memory of the look on my father's face when he found out. The dripping disappointment. "You are always too loud."

Unaware of the pain the memory has for me, Ignis continued. "Why be quiet when the world demands my silence. Better to be loud while I can."

I placed my book down and shot my sister a look. "You'll never have to worry about being silent dear sister. I am the one forced to be queen." I realized my mistake a moment too late. The words were already out of my mouth.

Ignis shot up out of my lap and turned to analyze my face. Her face filled with confusion, her nose scrunching up, causing her freckles to blend together. "Don't you want to rule Prim?"

I opened my mouth and shut it again. I had never admitted to my reluctance before. Even when I ran, my sister thought I was just needing a night away. Not that I had no plans to return. The truth was I had no desire to lead. To become a female clone of my father and scare everyone around me as I ruled with a cruel hand.

I shrugged to lighten the moment. "It's not a matter of want," I said carefully. "It's a matter of duty."

"Sounds boring."

The honesty behind her answer made me laugh. "Promise me you will tell our father that the next time he asks about your future ruling desires."

"Right!" she said with a cord of bitterness as she sprawls out again, her head in my lap. "Like he'd ever ask."

I ran my fingers through my sister's hair, a knot of understanding tangling up inside me. Where she wanted my father's love and attention, I wanted his eyes and rules anywhere else. "There are far better things than having father's attention," I replied quietly.

Ignis closed her eyes, melting into my tender touch. "I know."

"My ladies," a voice off to our left called. "King Devinus requests—."

Ignis scoffs and sits up straight, her eyes amused, but her sudden grip on my deep blue dress tight with concern. "Requests? He never requests anything." He was changing up our schedule, and that was never a good sign.

The servant set her jaw, quite accustomed to Ignis's retorts. "He... demands princess Prim's presence in the throne room."

The blood leaves my face. It must have because I felt it all roaring through my chest. My heart trying wildly to escape its bone cage. I turned to look at my sister and erased my fear and concern from my features. Removing her fingers, still wrapped tightly around the skirt of my dress I stood. "Can you put this back in my room?" I asked Ignis, handing her my book. She nods numbly and takes it without a word.

Then I turn and follow the servant towards my father, terrified. I hadn't had my hour to recoup. What did he have planned now?

I didn't have much time to wonder as I was quickly ushered into the throne room. Tall marble columns stretched a hundred feet into the air, cursing to connect at the center of the ceiling. Large glass windows made up the left and right walls, sending light cascading in warm brushstrokes across the room. I ignored the comforting air it gave the space, having learned that the instinct to feel calm and at home was one of the many ways my father disarmed all who came to him here.

My father was not on his large black marble throne. He stood off to the right, talking to someone out of sight. I kept my steps silent, pausing to try and assess the situation. My father was laughing. And although it was strange, clearly unpracticed, it was genuine. The second voice belonged to a boy. "Dear daughter, it is rude to stare," my father said, turning to glance in my direction, his glacier eyes sending me into a deep curtsey so I wouldn't have to look at them.

"Forgive me, your highness," I replied quickly.

"Don't ask for forgiveness. Merely do better next time."

I stood straight back up again and offered a single nod of agreement, scolding myself for forgetting his hatred of the idea of forgiveness. He saw it as a weakness. 

My eyes moved to the boy now standing beside my father. He was too handsome to be real. It instantly made me distrust him. His deep rich brown eyes were striking. Brown hair that swept along his strong jaw, drawing my attention to his chiseled facial features. Symmetry that was perfect and wearing a deep blue suit that was pristine.

Our clothes matched which only made me irritated. He stared back at me, a smile appearing across his lips, taking him to another level of attractiveness. One that made it difficult to process the simplest of ideas. He was too perfect.

He moved towards me, lowering his head into a bow, causing his hair to sweep across his eyes, and forced my eyes to follow, taking in his face all over again. He smiled as I blinked at him, seeming to understand the effect he had on me. A not-so-secret amusement crossing his eyes. "Lady Prim," he breathed as he took my hand and kissed it.

I ignored the gentle brush of his lips on my skin, confusion snaking through me. I looked over at my father, waiting for an explanation.

My father smiled. A strange cruel smile filled with a dangerous glint. It was the smile he used when he had discovered a new game. A new way to play with his subjects. A game where he knew all the rules because he had reinvented them and left everyone else to guess what the parameters were.

"It is an honor to meet you," the boy continued, his voice musical in a deep, rich baritone that worked its way deep into my bones. His honey-brown eyes landing on my face, pinning me into place "I am Deco Pericolo."

My father continued, connecting the dots for me, his eyes taking in my response with amusement. "This is the boy who I have chosen for your hand."