The day I met Peter Pan was the day that I realized I was never really hidden.
On the first day of Spring, when the flowers on the trees and shrubs all bloom together, he comes to the castle with a few of his Lost Boys and names his price. Depending on how many Lost Boys have died in the past year, he'll usually take a few more children back with him to his camp on the large island north of ours. Sometimes, it's something as simple as clothing.
It all depends on how Peter is feeling.
And as long as we give him what he wants, Peter and the Lost Boys leave the villages and the people who reside there alone. That's how it's always been, and that's how it will stay. My father, King Aldwyn, has only ever denied Peter and the Lost Boys once.
And in the end, Peter still got what he wanted.
Four years have passed since that day, but the wound it left still bleeds, and I'm not sure my father will ever forgive himself for what happened.
I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forgive him either.
Every year, on the day that Peter Pan is to come to the castle, I am to stay out of sight. After breakfast, I am sent to my room and I am to stay there until my father fetches me himself.
"If you're out of Pan's sight, you're out of Pan's mind," my father tells me every year, but every time he tells me this, it's like he's trying to convince himself instead of trying to convince me.
Part of me, a large part of me, wants to believe that what he's saying is true, but there's this nagging whisper in the back of my mind whenever he says it that tells me he's wrong. Peter Pan must know I'm hidden away, and I know that if I was Peter Pan, that would make me curious.
And a curious Peter Pan is dangerous.
"Off with you now, Holly," my father said as I folded my napkin and set it on my plate. I hardly touched the assortment of fruit or the bread and cheese. I'm never hungry on the day Peter Pan visits. My father must not be either because he's hardly touched his own plate. "Pan and the Lost Boys should be arriving any minute, and I want you-"
"Out of Pan's sight, out of Pan's mind," I finished for him, and he gave me a small smile.
"That's a girl," he said, cupping my cheeks in his hand. His palm is clammy and cold, but I don't pull away. His thumb traces the soft curve of my cheekbone before he drops his hand and dismisses me. Servants began to clear away the platters still piled with food, their faces grim. I know a few of them have boys, and I'm sure they fear that Peter Pan will want to take them away from Mystasia forever. My heart aches for them, but there isn't anything I can do.
There isn't anything any of us can do. What Pan wants, Pan gets.
I stand and gather the blue material of my gown in my hands before taking off at a fast-paced walk towards the dining hall doors. The deep brown strands of my hair, without any hint of curl, tickle the back of shoulders.
The door shuts behind me, the echo sounding much larger in the empty hall. The windows that adorn the right side of the hall rattle slightly, but I don't linger. I'm half way down the hall when I hear voices.
Loud, rowdy voices, and cackling laughter.
Peter and the Lost Boys. They've arrived early, and the only way out of the hall is to pass by them.
I freeze when a guard rounds the corner at the end of the hall, his face grim and his march more than a bit stiff. His step falters slightly when he sees me, and his eyes grow wide.
He glances over his shoulder slightly before bolting over to me and grabbing my elbow so tight it almost hurts. He wastes no time dragging me over to the other side of the hall and pushing me behind one the large pillars that reaches from floor to ceiling.
"Stay hidden," he whispers urgently before turning back and making the last few strides towards the large dining hall doors. I nod, unable to swallow the hard knot that has formed in my throat.
The voices grow louder, and soon I can see them. I don't dare peek out from behind the pillar in fear of being seen, but I can see their reflections in the windows as they pass.
Boys of all shapes, sizes, and ages round the corner, their clothes and hair in a wide spectrum of disarray. They all wear the traveling cloaks that Peter demanded be made for them last year, and while most had their hoods are down, some of the older boys wore their hoods up. Most of the younger boys are barefoot, their feet black with filth, but the older boys seem to be wearing makeshift shoes that looked a lot like moccasins.
Three boys that seem to be about my age lead the group, and I can only guess that one of them must be Peter Pan.
Part of me hopes that one of the other two hooded boys is John, but from what Father tells me, Peter never brings him, and my father isn't one to beg.
"Even if Pan did bring John back with him, I wouldn't allow you to see him," my father told me the first year after Peter had taken John. "It's too risky."
I had been so angry, but then Peter never brought him, and it occurred to me that he probably never would.
The guard who opened the door lead the party inside, and I went by unnoticed. When the door closed and I checked the reflections in the mirror several times to make sure I was alone, I let myself breathe normally. Then, I stepped back into the hall.
And ran smack into someone.
"Well, well, well," the hooded figure drawled, and I felt my stomach drop. "Who do we have here?"
"I-I'm so sorry," I stumbled as I tried to rein in my fraying nerves. I could have sworn Peter and his entourage had entered the dining hall. Surly, I would have seen this hooded boy in the windows. Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at the large windows. Sure enough, the hooded figure was there and very hard to miss.
"Please, don't apologize," the figure said as he pulled back his hood. "The fault was mine. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."
I open my mouth to speak, but as the hood fell down over the boy's shoulders, the words didn't come.
Emerald green eyes stared down at me through fiery red curls that poked out in different directions on his head. His skin had been kissed by the sun, bringing out the splatter of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He was only slightly taller than me, and lean, but I felt so small next to him. His lips curled into a smirk as he tilted his head to the side and said, "It's rude to stare."
I ducked my head, my cheeks flushing hot, which made him chuckle.
"You wouldn't happen to be King Aldwyn's daughter, would you?" he asked, his voice like honey. I looked up at him to find him smiling down at me. My mind screamed for me to lie, to tell him that he mistook me for someone else, but I had a feeling he already knew the answer. It wasn't like my gown alone gave anything away.
I gave a small nod, and his eyes sparkled.
"It's an honor, Your Majesty," he said with a deep bow.
Normally, I would curtsy and say something along the lines of, "The pleasure is all mine.", but I don't. I stand, my shoulders and back beginning to ache from standing so rigid, my hands wringing together as he straightens.
"I've been waiting a very long time to catch a glimpse of you," he said, reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I try to hold still, but every nerve in my body tells me not to let this boy touch me. I feel his fingertips brush my ear, then my neck, and finally my collar bone. My breath hitches, and as I watch him, his eyes change. They darken to the shade of moss in the deep wood after a heavy storm. His hair seems to darken to, fading into an auburn, and I swear that his shadow ripples.
Something feels very wrong, and I will my feet to move, but they don't. They stay put.
I shouldn't be out here, I tell myself, I shouldn't be talking to this boy.
"Don't you know who I am, Princess?" he asks, an amused smile on his face. His moss colored eyes twinkle dangerously. I shake my head, and the corners of his lips stretch wide.
Then, he took a step back and spread his arms out wide. "Well, Princess," he announced, the grin never leaving his face, "I'm Peter Pan."