Rebel Princess (Rewriting)

Chapter One:

"Miss Riley!" I hear a distant voice call.

Good God.

"Miss?" I hear the soft pattering of light feet, indicating one of the many maids are searching for me.

"Go away," I whisper out, a small growl slipping out.

'Why can't they just leave us alone!?' Aris, my tiger growls out, pacing angrily in my head.

I don't know, I respond, feeling equally annoyed, I just want peace and quiet. Can't they give us that, at the very least?

The quick footsteps draw closer, the sound of distant doors opening down the corridor, nearing my temporary hiding spot. The only reason I haven't been found yet is because most of the maids are human and can't sniff me out.

Thank God.

The book I was reading is clutched tightly in my grasp and I wish I could just escape back into the fiction world of Suzanne Collins. The Hunger Games series one of my many escapes. If only I could find a spot that I could read undisturbed long enough without being found.

"Miss!?" the petite voice is closer, meaning I am moments from being discovered.

Dammit.

I shrink back into the darkness of the small laundry room, a rarely used area on the third level of the ancient castle. Too bad the maids are clever enough to search every nook and cranny in this damn place.

"Princess Maurice!" the voice is now right outside.

But no one, I mean no one calls me my full name. Except my parents.

"What part of hiding don't you people understand!" I growl, flinging open the laundry room door, barely missing a startled maid.

She flinches upon hearing my tone, but quickly lowers her short frame into a polite curtsey. "Your Highness."

I just growl at her as I storm past her, childishly stomping my feet as I march down the empty corridor. My waist length black hair flies behind me like a banner for doomsday as I make for the stairs.

I glare horridly as I pass by servants, my temper getting the better of me as I head for my parents' quarters. I can hear the young maid following me, her small legs rushing to catch up with my long ones. I'm not surprised, I am quite tall for my age. 5'9 to be exact.

I rush towards the drawing room, where my parents are often situated. I burst through the heavy doors, my hands pushing them out my way, my book still clutched in my left hand.

"Mother!" I call out, earning the attention of my parents.

They sit at a chess table, playing chess, obviously. My father, the King, sits slumped lazily in his chair, head in hand as he analyzes the board. My mother, the Queen, sits straight as a board, hands placed in her lap as she smiles triumphantly at my stumped father.

"Yes, dear?" her sweet voice answers as she turns to look at me.

"I wanted to be left alone," I say pointedly at her, placing slim hands on a petite waist.

"Were you not left alone?" she says with a delicate frown.

Everything about Judith Riley, is delicate. From her smile to the way she walks. My mother is there definition of a Queen. Elegant, well-mannered, kind, humble, delicate. Even though people say I'm the splitting image of my mother, we couldn't be more different.

"Not for very long!" I say, raising my voice slightly.

"Now now, dear," my father intervenes, "Lets not raise our voices unnecessarily."