Clandestine (Chaennie Fanfiction)

Chapter One

1
•••

   The casket is enclosed in the tombstone. A rectangular, grey, cobbled case that rests above the ground with mother's name engraved on its smooth solidity.

   In loving memory of Royal Ellen Marie Park.

Remembered by your husband, King Mason, daughter, Princess Roseanne and all of Southern Marcadia.

The final chorus of "Farewell, My Love.", sung by the hymnal choir fleets into the misty fog surrounding Mount Park Major, which in fact is not a mountain, but a plateau- the resting place of the Royal Park family bloodline, where generations of dignified and noble family members lie above the ground in identical tombs- where at the end of your life, you will join the relatives you never met.

You will be reunited with your mother who has been laid to rest. In time, your father will be one with the stones, too. Though, you try not to think about it.

Your lawful relatives, families of alliances, mother's closest friends, and palace laborers begin to disperse as the last note comes to a cease.

You stare at the stone that separates you and the warmth you had been basked in, touched with, and loved by dearly for only ten years. You cry the heaviest of tears because you will endure life longer without your mother, than she was with you. You don't understand why she had to be taken away. You had done nothing wrong and she kissed you to bed the other night just like every night.

You stare at your father, who stands in front of his lost love with trembling shoulders and shaking hands and you ache to feel its squeeze.

But when you step forward, you're towered by a tall man of sophistication. You don't have to lift your head to meet your guest's gaze because he kneels down in front of you and wipes your tears. "Our deepest condolences, little one." his sincerity wisps in your ears because it means she is really gone. "The North has your mother and your Royal family in their prayers." you follow his gaze as he stands up and intertwines his hand with his wife in her neatly pressed black attire.

She brushes your hair gently, "She will be dearly missed, Roseanne." She has hands like your mother's and you well with more tears to the touch.

Though, you straighten on your back and bow your head in respect of their condolences, "Thank you, his and her majesty."

The King and Queen of Northern Marcadia say their goodbyes and you watch them take the hand of their own little girl as they walk away.

She's just as young as you, and you hope that she never has to experience the crippling loss of a loved one.

•••

   "Smile, Princess!"

The lightning flash of the camera blinds you and leaves green and purple spots to your vision for a minute or two, as the royal guards lead you from the entrance of the Grand Stables and into the common area of the establishment, where guests for today's meet await.

Approaching the open doors, you adjust the cufflinks to your white polo and secure the buttons of the matching white overcoat. You glance at your white pants and down to your black paddock boots sounding on the wooden planks with each footstep toward the open doors.

You hear chortles, cling clanking of glasses, and endless chatter as you near the common area. It sets you up for repetitive conversation with the rich and noble who are always in attempt to put in a good word for themselves. You're already in dread for the rest of your stay.