THIN SLICED
Thirteen years prior.
The urge to flee strikes its fateful hand a second too late. By then, the palace doors have long since been sealed shut, the outside world with it. Escaping isn’t an option at this point-- not with the amount of eyes and ears in their designated places, her every move under thinly-veiled scrutiny. Like a chicken before it’s slaughtered. The thought doesn’t exactly reassure her.
(Her brothers would have laughed.)
With her last joke looming ominously overhead, panic begins to set in. Her pacing steps begin to increase in frequency, a stiff, frantic patter of wool against polished wood. What if they change their minds? What if I say something I shouldn’t? What if the prince thinks I’m ugly? Worse- what if the prince is ugly?
“I need some air,” she blurts out.
In the safety of the courtyard-- and under the watchful gaze of the two women instructed to follow her-- she finds a spot beneath a towering Juniper, away from the sun. Maybe a bit of midday warmth is all she needs. It’s certainly more pleasant than the brisk chill that resides indoors. She toes at a loose pebble. Tunes out, mind far gone by the time the words reach her: watch out--
She turns, only for the wind to be knocked out of her. Into her. It all happens too fast for her to process, until she’s on her back and the women from before are crying out in panicked surprise from above. Dizziness. Then, gradually, the realization that she’s not the only one they’re worried about.
Her eyes meet his.
Oh.
Oh.
@blushtcnes