Young Writers Society

That night, the room Nicoletta and share is quiet. After I finished my hour with Alexander, my parents pestered me with questions.

What was he like? Suitable? Is he kind? Husband material?

I'd gotten so irritated that I nearly screamed at them. Because of that, I was sent to my room for my disruptive behavior. It isn't my fault my patience is usually near zero half the time. 

"How was your talk with him?" my sister breaks the deafening silence in our room. I debate what to tell her. I shrug, rolling my eyes.

"How you'd expect it," I respond vaguely, brushing out my hair.

"And that is?" she prods excitedly, she leans forward in the chair she sits in.

"He said 'hi' and of course I couldn't be rude so I said 'salutations, good fellow',"  I say sarcastically. "And then we professed our undying love for each other. The wedding's next week, make sure you have a dress hemmed."

"Hardy-har," Nicoletta rolls her eyes. "Can't you be serious, dear sister?"

"Only on Tuesdays," I shoot back. She shakes her head. 

Her hair is as black as the night. It's straight while mine is wavy. Nicoletta is poised while I am the definition of chaos. My little sister would make a much better Queen than I. She sits like a delicate flower and I like a delicate bomb.

She stares off into nothing and I continue brushing my hair. She bites her lip, obviously thinking hard on something.

"What's on your mind?" I ask her.

"Do you think Mom and Dad are in love?" she inquires. I'm caught off guard. My sister rarely asks about our parents' relationship.

Now that is a complicated question. My parents were betrothed to each other at a young age, barely had enough time to try and get to know each other. Come to think of it, I've hardly seen any mere public affection. It's radio silent on both ends.

I didn't grow up with parents cooing "I love you" to each other or showing any forms of affection. No cheek kisses or hand squeezes or long hugs.

Mother and Father are partners at best, maybe colleagues. But, husband and wife? Not at all.

I can't break little Nicoletta's heart. Having parents that don't even love each other? What that would do to a girl! 

What did it do to you, Cassandra? 

"Yes," I lie quickly. "Why do you ask?"

"I've always wondered what it must feel like," she says, leaning back in her chair. She tucks a strand of her midnight-colored hair behind her petite ear.

"Love?" I ask.

"Yes," she nods. 

I watch my dreamy 15-year-old sister. She sighs happily. I bet she's making scenarios of her perfect prince in her head. I stopped doing those when I realized that it isn't my place to pick my husband. 

"Do you think you'll love Alexander?" she inquires.

"No," I scoff. I soften a little, a blush forming on my cheeks. "You know who I love, Nicoletta."

"Yes. The rebel prince," she bites her lip, giving me a half-smile. It hides her judgment well but I still see a glimmer of doubt in her eyes. 

She's being protective of me. She knows what Hunter is known for. 

Hunter Resner, heir to the throne after his father, is what my mother would call a "Rebel Prince". He does not play by the rules. He does not follow the proper procedure of learning how to be King. And he is definitely not my betrothed.

Under all the bravado and snarky comments, lies a sweet boy. Made of books and painting. I met him at a gala.

We danced that night. I seemed to be in a trance with his beautiful green eyes. When we danced, it was like nothing else existed. It was just him and I.

Deep down, I suppose I'm a lovesick teenager.

"I'm in love, Nicoletta. People are foolish when they are in love," I remind her. She smiles, nodding in agreement. 

"Do you wish you didn't fall for him?" she asks.

"Everyday," I respond.

And it is true. Not falling in love would make this much simpler in my complicated life. I wouldn't have to sneak around speaking to him or lie about who I meet in the gardens some nights. I wouldn't have to see that uneasy look on my little sister's face.

"But then I remember his smile," I tell her sheepishly.

Stop blushing, girl!

"Ah," she nods.

"Enough of this, go to bed, it's late," I tell her, uncomfortable with the topic of my love life. It isn't a conversation that I want to go on forever. Who knows what I could say so late at night? 

I put up a wall-a barrier-, letting people only know the things I want them to know about me. My sister isn't as dumb as others. She smirks at me, a knowing look painted on her face.

"You need to talk about your emotions, dear," she tells me.

"Nah," I reply, curling up under the covers. "To much ground to cover. My mind is a painting of disarray, destruction, and madness."

"You could just say no," my sister rolls her eyes, giggling. 

"Goodnight," I say, turning off the lamp. I lie there, staring up at the ceiling.

I've never known love really. My parents aren't in love. No relative except my little sister has shown any sign of love towards me. 

I never had a father or mother who rooted for me, who supported me. I had parents who forced me. They built me up into a beautifully dangerous shard of glass. 

Deep down, I know my parents want me to be perfect. And, in reality, I wouldn't stop them. I couldn't.

I may put on a facade of sarcasm and derision, but behind all that is a girl who's afraid of-

Enough, I think. I don't need to think about this anymore. I shut off my brain, or at least try to. I tumble into a deep slumber.