Just My Luck

You're Kidding, Right?

When I woke up for the second time this morning, the reality of my situation set in, my mother leaning over me, a look of worry painted on her face hiding the terror in her eyes. The events of the morning came rushing back to my memory as the doorbell rang through the house. I nodded toward my mother, needing a moment to myself, running a hand through my hair as I got up off the deep mahogany floor, my hand catching in the newly formed curls. As my mother shut the door behind her, I let myself become lost in the music still playing from my phone connected to my stereo.

"This can't be happening. I can't be a part of the royalty. I'm just a music kid from a small town with a single mother. There's nothing special about me."

My feet moved across the floor gracefully, much like my mothers, a skill which bled over from when she still danced professionally. George Enescu's Romanian Rhapsody was playing from my stereo, and forgetting the irony in it all, I let my feet guide me across the room losing myself in the dance my mom taught me as a young girl when I was much more flexible than I am now, not that it says much. As my eyes shut, I began imagining myself back at the dance studio, the dance progressing from muscle memory. Lost in my fantasy, I didn't notice the man standing in my doorway until the music subsided and I looked up from the curtsey finish.

He was tall, much taller than any man I had met in the small town where I grew up, and his short white hair was arranged neatly, with a few strands falling over his eyes. Oh, his eyes. They swirled gold and red, almost like lava in the right light. The smile on his face reached his eyes, metaphorically, thankfully, otherwise I might have screamed in terror.

"You must be Clare, I'm Nickola. I've come to retrieve you, my mother's wishes."

Shock coursed through my veins at the deep tenor of his voice. The sound was familiar, despite having never met this man in my life. I felt connected to him somehow, similar to how one feels connected to their blood relations. As he finished his sentence, I realized that I had no earthly idea who this man really is, other than now knowing his first name. And why was he in my room?! Calm, Clare, keep calm.

"Your mother?" I managed to say as my brain swirled with new theories and information.

"Oh jeez. I'm sorry," He held his hand out and I cautiously shook it. "Nickola Tepes, Prince of Verren."

I didn't even try to feign surprise, because how else would he know my name if he wasn't one of them. Too bad though. I still have to figure out why he seems so familiar.

"Clare Buchannan. Nice to meet you, your highness." I said with a slight bow.

He had the audacity to laugh and roll his eyes at me. Royal, for sure. Royal prick.

"No need for that, Princess." He bit out the last word laughingly, but the look in his eyes was calculating, like he was summing me up, either looking for weaknesses, or maybe he had the same problem that I was having, unknown familiarity. "You should pack what you would like to take, though the whole wardrobe is unnecessary, just take comfort clothes. We'll pretty much be transporting back to the Dark Ages. Corsets, frilly collars, men dressed in styles from days of old. Mom's been fighting in for years, at least there is phone service now and on good days we have internet connection."

I shivered at the thought of the clothes of olden days, of disconnection from nearly everything I knew, becoming a new person. I'm being moved to another continent. Anyone in their right mind would be terrified and unsure.

"You don't have to wear them all the time. I promise. Mom wouldn't do that to you, she hardly wears the stuff unless she has to. And you don't have to give up everything you know here. We wouldn't ask that of you, never Clare, never."

He wasn't looking at me as he spoke, his voice drifting off, instead it appeared that he was looking behind me at the poster of my mother in her first professional ballet. The look on his face was strange, almost contorted in minor pain as though he was recalling some sad memory.

"My mom was a ballerina for most of my early childhood," I started speaking after a moment, watching his eyes for some sort of reaction "so she wasn't around a lot, and then after I turned like 4 or something like that she opened up the studio and started teaching lessons so that she could stay here with me more often I guess."

His eyes flared in recognition, shock painted on his face as he turned his head to look at me once more.

"Your...mom?!"

"Um. Yeah. Didn't she let you into the house?" I deadpanned. What the hell was wrong with him? I hope that not all of the royal family is this weird.

He looked a little sheepish when I asked that, suspicious.

"No. The door opened but there was no one anywhere near it..."

He started looking at me like I was some kind of alien being, examining my face and what I was wearing, looking around my room like it was some unsolved mystery.

"Clare, who are you talking to? When I opened the door no one was there. It was quite odd. Are you fe-"

My mother walked directly into Nickola's back after rounding the corner hiding the door to my room.

"Oh, my. I'm sorry, I didn't..."

Nickola turned around to face my mother and like something out of a fairytale, the prince turned around and held the fair maiden tightly, whispering her name like a prayer, and for them, the world seemed to collapse in their minds. Astonishment, tears, pain, love, all written in the two standing in the doorway of my room.

"Maryala... where... why... oh my Mary I've been lost without you, my love."

The tears that had formed in my mother's eyes fell then.

"Nickola... If I didn't go you would have been in danger... they were making threats upon your life. I had to leave. I'm sorry..."

The conversation became quiet then, the two murmuring, and the moment they looked like they were about to kiss is where I called it quits and began packing, not that they noticed me. I will get answers later. But I don't need to see my mom kissing a man who looks to be about my age. That would be disturbing, to say the least.

"Jeez. Get a room you two. Not mine. We can talk later when you aren't all sappy and Someone will tell me what the heck is going on. For the time being, I was told to pack. Now. Out. Please."

My mother's eyes were wide, shock painted across her face before Nickola started guiding her down the stairs.

"It's entirely normal dear, your hair did that when we were young as well."

Hair... entirely normal? What is my hair doing? A look in the mirror shows nothing out of the ordinary. Oh well.

It didn't take me long to finish packing, the once covered walls of my room now nearly barren, the light violet paint showing through for the first time in years. I tied my hair back into a braided bun and put on my shoes that I had set aside for this. The mock ballet flats felt comfortable against my feet as I drifted across my room for what may be the last time, grabbing my phone, and shutting the door behind me.