Flying Free

Chapter 1

A/N: The prologue is the book Evangeline is reading at the beginning, in case anyone was confused.

"Ugh, I hate History," I think, my eyes drifting from the History of Aligen book I have on my desk, wishing I was doing anything other than my assigned work. I would have to finish the work by the end of the week, and now was as good a time as any to get started on my least favourite task.
"Come on Evangeline, you can at least finish this one measly book today. If you finish before 4 you might be able to sneak in a bit of poetry before Dad gets home" I encourage me, my interest peaking at the poem. If only that was a part of my training. I don't want to be a queen, at least not of this kingdom, but I will be, for my father is the king. Trapped in this mind-numbing city, I will never achieve my dreams. In Vimeravi, it was a possibility. No, I have to push it out of my mind, look at the book, it says everyone is evil and selfish there. I have to believe my own kingdom's history, rules and beliefs are real or my world will truly fall apart. And it's not like I could ever go to Vimeravi, I could never leave my mother behind. For my mother, Irene, I knew I could endure anything. So I will stay in this city until I die no matter how much I hate it, blocking out the hopeless possibilities and continuing to read.

A few hours later, I am finally done. Plus, it's only 3. A single perfect hour of poetry. So I dive into my imagination and form a poem, letting my whole self pour out onto the paper to create a pure representation of my mind.

Locked doors, closed windows. No escape from this dreary existence. A time was coming. Great triumph and heartbreak. But with it, a pathway to hope.

A confusing poem, but I've written worse and it gives off a strangely strong sense of knowing, maybe too strong. I hastily stuff the poem under a loose floorboard under the window, which is already packed with poems, collecting dust as I don't go near them once they were written. I wish I could share my passion with my tutors, my Father but the risk was too great, it could never happen. Only with Mother would I share the words I held so dear. The time has flown, and my father will be home any moment, so I set off downstairs, ready to greet him.

Waiting anxiously on the staircase, me and mother await father's return with the servants. For a few moments, we glance towards the door in silence, then, footsteps sound on the gravel. Father has arrived. As he opens the door, the maids step forward to take his coat and hat from him and as he steps in himself, before placing his things lovingly on the side table in the foyer of the lovely palace. When father strides into the living room, I dutifully follow him alongside mother and once he settles in his usual chair by the fire, I sit across from him and answer his questions about my day, also politely inquiring about his life. It was our daily routine, and will likely never change. Still, I long for when Father would retreat upstairs to his office, to work so I and mother could truly discuss their lives without fear of being discovered.

Soon I get my wish, as, after about 20 minutes of rehearsed chatter, father bids us goodbye until dinner and asks us not to disturb him until then, as if we would dare. So mother asks me if I have completed any work, and I tell her of the history book and cautiously speak of my poem, even going as far as to recite it to her. The servants aren't a bother, the only ones still here are our personal handmaidens and if they can't be trusted, we would already be in too much trouble for it to matter. mother praised my skill, though we both know the trouble it could get us into. If we were ever caught to be breaking the rules passed down by the gods, we would be exiled at best, executed at worst. Even so, it's worth it to feel not so confined, not so stifled by my home. Without Mother, I didn't know what I would do, but I didn't want to think about that. So, as I and mother go through to the kitchen to supervise dinner preparations, we just appreciate that we have someone to confide in, someone who loves us for who we truly are. 

At the dinner table, I try to enjoy the plain rice with meat, gravy and vegetables but fail miserably. It's not my fault I can't stomach the plain food of Aligen. I just yearn to try new cuisines, new cultures. "No, you have to stop this Evangeline, wishing for things you can never have will only make you more depressed, you need to accept your life and enjoy it as much as possible, I mean you only get one". I feel a little better, but my thoughts cost me, as I let my emotions slip and a wince escapes my carefully constructed mask
"Are you alright Aelin" questions father?
"Of course Father, I was just thinking about the food in Vimeravi and how sinful they are to eat so selfishly" I lie flawlessly " I have been learning history today, I suppose it captivated me so completely it leaked into my thoughts". Father seems satisfied, so I turn back to the meal and force myself through it.

Looking up at the night sky, I can see small dancing symbols over Vimeravi. That's probably my favourite custom of Vimeravi, they paint small symbols on their wings in glowing paint, swirls and hearts and stars and stripes. I look out at them each night before I go to bed, allowing myself a small quiet moment to contemplate my wish. But that time is soon over, so I turn away from my solitary window and snuggle beneath my sheets, savouring the cold cotton on my warm skin before I tumble into a deep sleep.

A/N: The bit in bold is the poem she wrote. Plus thanks so much to anyone who read, please leave a comment and tell me what you thought.