I have always felt like an impostor, here, in this castle.
I've never truly felt worthy of everything that was given to me by virtue of my birth: the acclaim, the status, the attention.

The responsibility.

People come to me, they actively seek me out, the citizens of my kingdom and they tell me that they owe their lives to me. They tell me that they wholeheartedly believe that I was the turning point in their lives, in their parent's lives, in the history of this kingdom, and all I can do is blush. Because how do you respond to something like that?

They shake my hand so firmly, with both hands, often calloused from years of farm work, and I can do nothing but stutter out a weak answer to their praise.

"Ah uh, I… couldn't have done it without your support."

"N-no, you flatter me."

"T-thank you."

Years in the royal court have taught me to live by rules that only truly apply to the gentry: Stay constantly aware of your surroundings, always comport yourself like someone is watching you, and never take a complement at face value, because excessive laud often hide backhanded criticism.

Years of political machinations have hardened me against even the most innocent compliment. I no longer feel gratitude from the bottom of my heart, in truth, I may have never actually felt that gratitude, even as a young girl.

Ever since I was a child, I have been taught the noble art of communication. How to respond to a question with a voice wracked in iron, covered in armor. Keep my head held high and speak in a manner that never betrays the slightest bit of fear, or uncertainty. I have had years to learn the vast inner workings of conversation, but these honest proclamations of my perceived virtues have never failed to catch me unawares.

Occasionally, these citizens have their children with them, clutching to their parent's legs, peaking out enough that I can only see the edge of their eyes, their ears red from embarrassment, or meekness.

When I was younger, I would bend down by the knees when their parents had let go of my hand, face to face and smiling at the youths. This often prompted the children to retreat further into the material of their parent's clothes. Now that I am older, I do the same, but I always ask them their names first. In this way, they give me permission to close the distance between us, and I give them time to realize that royalty are no less human than they are.

I once had a woman, a farm hand, about my age come up from behind and offer her wares. When I turned around, I saw that she was carrying the largest bottles of milk that I had ever seen in my life. Upon seeing who I was, she became flustered and blushed as dark as her fire red hair. To her credit, however, she continued with her pitch, extolling the nature of her family's ranch, and the produce therein. I decided to humor her, and bought a bottle of the drink. To my surprise, when I did finally decide to have some later, I found that she wasn't exaggerating, it was delicious. But what truly stuck with me was what she said to me after the transaction had been done and finished with: "You know, I've heard so many stories about you, Princess, and so many of them made you out to be this otherworldly being. I hope you don't think it too forward of me to say that it's nice to see that you're just a woman like me."

Am I? What IS the difference with me and the farm girl I see every day in the plaza selling her family's goods? Between me and the grandmother who takes care of her grandchildren? Between me and the warriors who protect their own just across the rivers to the west?


There's more, but I just needed somewhere to put this all together as it's written.