Gold Weaver | ✓

siebzehn

SIEBZEHN

The morning of the third night, I didn't really know what to do with myself. I'd done all the reading, writing, drawing I could possibly muster myself to do. Creativity just didn't come galloping, heck it didn't even come crawling, with the heaviness I felt.

My hand hurt from the amount of times I'd started and scrunched up and thrown in the bin the letter I was desperately trying to write. In times of need, it seemed words just weren't my strong point.

I addressed it to him by name. It wasn't the best but I knew he didn't need my best. He just needed the truth, and that would have to be good enough.

I kept it at my side as I walked down to the main entrance area. I was meaning to go through it easily and to the throne room or the study I knew he'd locked it in his memory as being our place, but that was easier said than done when a hoard of people stood in the way.

"Isabella, what's going on?" I asked when I spotted her, almost invisible in the tumulus crowd. I caught her by the arm and pulled her to the side before she got dragged into the heart of the chaos.

"She's here." She didn't need to elaborate for me to know what— or more to the point who— she meant. But she did anyway. "The Princess! She's arrived!"

We hurried to the throne room like our opinion, our presence was of any importance. Mostly, we just wanted a peak at her. It was utterly hideous of me but I wanted to see if she was worth giving him up for.

We hide in the corner, hidden by the huge, red curtain.

"Oh my gosh!" Isabella said from beside me. I would've told her to be quiet, but there was so much noise in the throne room, nobody noticed one more excited squeal. "She's stunning!"

I didn't know whether I wanted it to be true or not. It being true meant he would grow to love her far more quickly than he would think. However, it also meant he'd forget about me. And a selfish sliver in me wanted me to cloud his mind for as long as possible. I wasn't selfish enough to make him give up everything but it seemed I was selfish enough to want to plague his mind.

"She is," I agreed.

Because she was. She really, really was.

Her dark hair was half tied on top of her head in an intricate bun and the rest hung about her shoulders in a cascade of ebony curls. They framed her face, a collection of strong bone structure and feminine features. Even from afar, I could see her beauty outshone anyone in the room. It wasn't hard to see why people believed them to be a perfect match. It hurt— fuck it hurt bad— but I agreed with them. They looked suited. They just... fit.

The boy who'd introduced himself as the Prince— the one with chestnut hair and luminous green eyes— held her dark skinned hand in his own paler one.

If he was the Prince then who was that?

"How did the Prince break his nose?" I asked suddenly, making Isabella jump.

She didn't turn to me, preferring to keep her eyes on the scene enveloping as did everyone else. "Break his nose?" She asked. "He hasn't."

"But it's crooked," I said, furrowing my brow in confusion. It definitely looked broken. "To the left. He looks like he's broken it at least twice."