Page 5 of Falling Princess
Hence, our participation in the Olympics. It was a bid—a very expensive one—to raise our profile. I’m the figurehead. The beautiful princess from the forgotten country in desperate need of help, please rescue me, etc. etc. I hate it. All of it. I play along because I have no other choice, and because—deep down—I do want to be a good queen someday, if I absolutely can’t get out of it.
I’m fully aware of how bad it would’ve been if we were caught. The press would’ve had a field day. Which is why I’m so conflicted. I’m still angry with Raina for telling her overprotective crush about our adventure.
Goddess, I want to strangle her.
Thanks to her, I’m the one who’s liable to get strangled, by my father.
Cata wasn’t done with me yet. “You could have been the one splayed out on the sidewalk. Had Lorcan been a moment slower, you’d have been caught inside the club.”
Sullenly, I said nothing.
“You could be dead.”
I jerked my gaze away, feeling guilty about the bombing for reasons I can’t quite articulate.Ididn’t set the bomb. I didn’t knowingly put anyone in danger. There are plenty of reasons to feel bad about last night, but my culpability isn’t one of them.
“All I wanted was to benormalfor a while.”
I’m a person, not an artwork in a museum. But the way they treat me, I might as well be a statue. Or a very expensive doll. Pose and smile; never step a foot out of line.
Living goddesses aren’t supposed to have mortal needs. Or feelings. I have both, with no outlet.
Patient despite her anger, Cata rummaged through the black bag sitting next to her on the bench seat, producing a thick folder. She flipped it open and handed it to me. Press clippings. “This is the princess we need you to be.”
“I’ve seen this before.”
“Zosia. Look.”
Cata didn’t relent. She isn’t trying to punish me. That isn’t her style—Auralians in general aren’t big on punishment.
She wants me tolearn from this experience.
I dutifully examined these images of myself, noting what others see when they look at me. Observing, dispassionately, the way I’ve been presented in global media. Page after page showed variations upon the theme.
Whether casual or formal, Princess Zosia’s posture is always perfect. Her distinctive bright hair is an elegant sweep of gold piled on her head, or it falls in a gleaming curtain down her back. Big green eyes above a small, straight nose and unsmiling, full mouth, and her skin naturally tan. In fancy (borrowed) gowns, her breasts are displayed like ripe fruit on a platter and her shoulders bare but for the thick gold celestia emblem at her neck. She cleans up nicely, this perfect version of myself.
The young woman in the clippings isn’tme. I, however, am her, whether I like it or not.
“It’s amazing what a bit of makeup, the right lighting, and a good photographer can achieve,” I said tightly, and gave it back. “I hardly recognize myself.”
Years of fawning news articles haven’t helped us. I’ve been doing my part since I was ten years old. Me playing dress-up hasn’t gotten us anywhere. I don’t evenlikedressing up.
It’s not the lesson Cata wanted to impart. Her brow furrowed with disappointment. The faint lines at the corners of her eyes are the sole indicator that she’s my mother’s age, not mine. No doubt I’ve caused more than a few of them over the years. Her silvery hair is genetic, though. Can’t blame that on me.
“I know we ask a lot of you, Zosia.”
She bent forward and patted my knee. Hot, itchy tears scratched the backs of my eyelids. I don’t cry. I haven’t cried since my mother died and I won’t do it now, though sometimes it’s hard to keep them at bay.
“All I wanted was a few hours of freedom,” I whispered. My friend stroked the back of my head. I came so close to losing it. I wish she’d hug me. Tell me it’s okay. That this aching emptiness will end, the pressure will become tolerable, that I’m not facing a lifetime of isolation, if I live long enough to get through a war.
“I’ll speak with your father.”
Cata let go. I sat up, blinking. Undoubtedly, she’s already been in contact with him. This is only an appetizer for the reprimand awaiting me at home. Fortunately, we won’t be there for long before I make my real escape...I inhaled sharply.
My father wouldn’t takethataway from me. Would he?
The fact that I don’t know the answer isn’t reassuring.
The seat beside me dipped. “Next time you sneak out, you should take me along for the ride instead of Raina’s lapdog.”
