Page 3 of Façade

He cleared his throat again. “Forgive me for the…interruption, Your Highness, but Their Majesties wish to speak with you.”

My tight smile faltered. “Now?” His disapproval deepened at my hesitation to immediately obey the king and queen. I hastened to explain. “It’s just that I haven’t finished the reports they tasked me with, so if they wish for an accounting…” I trailed off, too late remembering myself. It was not the footman’s place to receive my excuses; I could only give them to my parents.

“Please, Your Highness; it is my impression the matter is one of great urgency.”

With a sigh, I eyed the unfinished reports. Even my parents granting me extra time wouldn’t make them any more comprehensible, leaving me no reason to keep them waiting, especially with their minds currently weighed down by other matters beyond my understanding.

I followed the footman, an escort delayed when he was forced to pause at the library entrance so I could scamper back for my shoes, still hidden beneath the desk where I’d discarded them. In my haste I didn’t tug them all the way on, forcing me to spend several awkward moments attempting to adjust them beneath my skirts as I walked, all while struggling to maintain my dignity…what was left of it, anyway.

A strange sense of foreboding knotted my stomach with every step towards my parents’ sitting room. I couldn’t account for the reason for my anxiety, not with the love and kindness I knew awaited me. Yet my apprehension grew…along with the ominous sense that the moment I met with my parents, everything would change.

I gave my head a rigid shake to dismiss the paranoia clenching my thoughts. I had no reason to believe today’s meeting was beyond our usual conversations revolving around a variety of subjects—my studies, my duties, my upcoming betrothal to Prince Ryland of Brimoire, and the frequent cozy chats where we discussed anything and everything, my favorite way to spend my time with them.

Yet despite my attempts at self-reassurance, my nerves didn’t abate but rather escalated when I reached their private parlor. It took an unusually long time for Father to answer the footman’s knock, but he finally bid me to enter in an uncannily strained voice.

One of the guards flanking the door opened it with a bow, and I entered to find my parents huddled together on the settee. My smile faltered at the sight that greeted me—Mother’s glassy eyes, shining with unshed tears, and the tense lines tightening Father’s grave expression.

My heart lurched. “What’s happened? Is everything alright?”

Mother pursed her lips and looked away while Father’s mouth thinned, bearing a look like he’d just received notice of impending war. The thought caused my heart to pound wildly in my chest.

He motioned me to take my usual seat across from them. “Sit down…Evelyn.”

He hesitated on my name, which I’d later realize should have been my first clue something was amiss. At the time I could only shakily perch on the edge of my seat. In my nerves it took me a moment to realize I was slouching. I hastily straightened and clasped my hands properly in my lap like I’d been taught, but my anxiety was too acute to still my leg, bouncing up and down in my suppressed agitation.

I took a steadying breath in hopes the gesture would steady my voice when I attempted to speak. “Why have you summoned me?”

Mother pressed her hand to her mouth as if to stifle a sob, and Father’s frown deepened. He reached for her hand before turning to me. “We have something we must tell you. We should have told you much sooner, but we’ve been waiting for the right moment.”

“What is it?” Father looked so solemn, a testament to the serious nature of whatever news he wished to impart, but nothing could have prepared me for his next words.

He took a steadying breath. “You’re not the real princess.”

My breath hooked, and for a long moment I could only stare, the meaning of his words failing to penetrate my sudden shock. “I…what?”

“You’re not the real princess,” he repeated, slowly and without emotion…though his voice wavered ever so slightly.

I continued to stare, trying to make sense of his words, but it was impossible. He…couldn’t mean that. I was Crown Princess Evelyn, I’d always embodied that role—or at least attempted to—yet now he was claiming…Iwasn’t?

I searched Father’s eyes for his usual twinkle, but there was nothing save his somber expression, with no hint of the good humor that was one of the traits I loved most about him…which meant he was being entirely serious. Yet even with this realization, I couldn’t comprehend his words. For Ihadto be the princess. I’d always been one. So…how could I suddenly not be?

I took a steadying breath in a vain attempt to gather my unraveling composure. “I’m afraid…I don’t understand.”

“You’re not the real princess.” Father—or should I be referring to him as the king?—spoke in a tone harsher than his previous indifference, causing me to flinch.

Mother—the queen?—finally stirred, her expression strained. “Be gentle. Regardless of…the circumstances, she’s lived with us all of these years.”

Confusion penetrated my numb shock.All of these years?I’d been with them my entire life;theywere my whole life.

Father said nothing, only continued to watch me with a look such as he’d never before given me, as if I were nothing more than a mere stranger he could care less for; only the sadness in his eyes offered any hint of his true emotions. I stared first at him, then at Mother, at a loss as to what to say or do. Tears blurred my vision; upon noticing them, she lurched forward, her hand outstretched, as if to rest it over mine as she often did to comfort me…before stilling and slowly withdrawing, not just her touch, but all motherly affection.

For apparently she wasn’t really my mother.

The realization was slowly sinking in, causing my breaths to come out short and sharp. I tried to still them, to maintain my composure as a princess…but it was impossible. I’d struggled to correctly play the part expected of me even when I’d believed myself to be a princess, so how could I now that I finally knew the truth? Part of me was relieved to finally understand why my entire life had always felt like a constant challenge, but the explanation only left me empty.

“This perfectly explains why I’m such a disaster.” My tone was dull, emotionless.

“You’re not a—” Mother began, but she snapped her mouth shut at Father’s piercing look. For a moment I thought I detected the tiniest glimpse of pain; he lifted his hand as if he meant to reach out to me in comfort…only to pull away.

---