The False Princess

Chapter 1

Edited
*To be clear, this is a counter part type fanfiction to the book 'The False Prince' by Jennifer A Neilson. All rights go to her*

"Oi! Young lady, you get back here at this very instant!" The shrill voice bounces off the cobblestone streets, and rickety houses.

"Stop that girl!!" That would be my matron, Madame Scholy. I live at
The House For Misplaced Girls, run by that fat old hag.

"Lynx!! Get back here now, or else you'll suffer when you get back! Lynx!" Scholy screeches. The sound of her whiny voice follows me, earning strange stares from strangers. I just laugh as I run through the narrow streets of Preiston, the second largest city in all of Faiyria. My home. The most perfect, amazing country in the world. But that's coming from a 15 year old orphan girl that's never been outside of Faiyria. Well, if you want to get technical, I've never been outside of Preiston. But that will change someday. Just try to keep me here-I dare you.

"Well isn't it you again!" My old friend Harldy, the baker, laughs as he sees me appear from in the shadows into the crowded market place. I stick my tongue out at him, and jump up to sit on his table, out of the way from all the commotion. I swing my feet up and over, then jump behind the booth to stand next to Harldly.

"You know that you can't just leave your hair down!" He scolds me as he shoves ripped and dirty hat into my hands. I roll my eyes, and duck as I stuff my golden curls into the cap. I rub some extra dirt on my hair and face, transforming me into a typical Faiyrian boy. I pop back up, and lean against Harldly's stall.

"Well? Don't just stand there! Git to work!" He scolds me gruffly. I can't help but laugh as Hardly glares at me, his kind eyes hidden by bushy eyebrows, and a slick beard. He's a teddy bear once you get to know him, but he can look pretty intimidating.

"Didn't cha hear me the first time? Don't just stand around!" Harldy throws a towel covered in flour at me in a effort to get me to move. I easily sidestep the flour missile, and turn to the crowd. Time to work-just another day in the life of a peasant. Yay me.

It's only been a couple minutes when I hear the screech of tires. Out here, in the slums, nobody can afford a car. That can only mean that it's the Kypaiha. Kypaiha have only one job-to grab as many kids as they can and sell them as slaves. Nobody stops them-either the king doesn't care or he doesn't know.
It's every child between the ages of 5 and 18's worst nightmare. We see the consequences of being snatched every day-everyone knows somebody that's been taken, and everybody is determined not to become one of those kids.

I see Harldly push through the crowd toward me. "Go kid! Run!" He presses a loaf of bread into my hands, and pushes me towards a alley. I take off sprinting, pushing past screaming mothers, and angry fathers.

My heart sinks when I hear the heavy footsteps pounding behind me. I speed up. I can lose them in these streets. I know them better then anybody. Perks of being a orphan, and a thief-plenty of experience running.
My hat flys off, and my long blonde curls tumble out, streaming behind me. Shoot!! The Kypaiha prefer snatching girls to boys, as the girls are easier to capture and easier to sell. I frantically sprint through the narrow streets, focused only on losing my pursuers. Maybe if I was more focused on my surroundings, I would've seen the man standing in the doorway of a house that I was flying by. Maybe I would've avoided him if I saw him reach out as I ran past.
But I didn't.

There's a painful jolt on my scalp, and I'm yanked back roughly. I fall onto my back, and woozily stare up at the man who grabbed me. A tall dark man that gives me a deathly glare, as he drags me (by my hair) towards the rest of the Kypaiha. A group of men surround me. I scowl and bare my teeth at one of them, causing that guy to jump back quickly. The leader, a ugly man with a hairy mole on his upper lip, surveys me like a starving dog would a T-bone steak.

"Score! This one will fetcha fine price." He hisses. His breath makes me sick. It reeks of tobacco and fish.

"At least I'll get a price! Nobody would take you if they were paid to do it." I growl at him, directing my best death-glare at him. He sneers at me. This man infuriates me. So I hack up a nasty ball of phleglem, and spit it right in his eyes.

Score!

The leader blinks slowly a few times, and then before I know it, slaps me in the face so hard I cry out and my vision goes blurry for a second. He scowls darkly at me, and gives orders for me to be put in the wagon. He pushes me to the ground angrily, and I am dragged once more by my hair (which hurts WAY more then you'd think it would) kicking and screaming for help.