Disclaimer: disclaimed.

Chapter 11

I have drifted into a uneasy slumber, but I can still feel the horses' hooves clip-clopping up and down the dirt tracks of the country … or are they the cobbled streets of the city? I really can't tell anymore, and while normally it would drive me insane, I really don't care anymore. I really don't care about anything anymore. I keep my eyes tightly shut and my future spreads out in front me – distant and bleak. Superimposed over all my memories and thoughts is that one picture of the Crown Prince of Kilmere at the ball, forehead lined with worries and eyes darting wistfully to the dance floor. Tired, exhausted eyes.

Will that be what I look like after a year of marriage?

"Don't be ridiculous," I can almost hear my mother reprimand me. I haven't heard my mother's voice in so long … "Girls were made to be wed off. That is our lot in life." I can see her again, looking at my reflection in her full length mirror as she dresses for the ball. There is a weary expression in her eyes that I cannot ignore.

Was that my mother's only fault, perhaps? To believe, as she was told, that all she could ever do was marry well? She has never been a mother to me, but perhaps that is because she never had a real mother either. Perhaps she tried to get close to me, but I pushed her away, because I knew not what she was doing.

Perhaps.

"I just want to love and live with all my heart!" Wendy's voice floats through my head, echoing some romance novel that she has no doubt read and cherished. Ah, Wendy, so you will, I think to myself. She has more passion and more timidity that anyone I know, and she is such a contrary mix of each. She will be happy, and even if she isn't she will convince herself that she is happy. As I must also learn to do. I put Wendy away, put her out of my mind, out of my heart. I will never see her again.

Unbidden, an image of Melissa drifts into my mind's eye, and a memory unfolds – one that I had forgotten until now.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------It has been raining and the grounds are fresh with dew and rain and something else I cannot name. I run through the grass, skirts trailing in the mud, laughing. My hair streams out in two untidy braids behind me, and my dress billows out. Gleefully, I wade through the puddles of mud that line the floor, trailing the ends of my dress carelessly.

"Jasmine, stop that!" Melissa's voice rings out from what seems like nowhere. I glance around eagerly, squinting through the blurry mess of hedges, mud and rain to see my sister.

"Where are you?" I call back.

"By the fountain," she replies impatiently, and I hurry towards her. She has her back to me now, and her fingers trail delicately in the water. Why aren't the fish biting her? They always bite me – that's not fair!

"You're getting your dress wet," I warn her haughtily, folding my arms. Melissa turns to face me, perfect eyebrows raised.

"Jasmine, it's raining. Rain is wet."

Well …

"My point still stands," I reply, sticking my nose in the air. "You're getting your dress wet. You don't get your dresses wet. Ever. Except when the maid washes them, of course."

She sighs, rolling her eyes at me. Squinting, I wonder if I can see the remnants of tears on her cheeks, or if I'm imagining things.

"What's wrong?" I ask, going for the empathetic approach.

"Nothing," she says, blinking furiously. "It's just that …" Whirling around, she glares at me. "Don't you ever hate being you, Jasmine?" she almost snarls, blonde hair clinging to the side of her face in tendrils.

I think about the question for a moment longer than I need to, trying to make her feel better about my answer. "No."

"Urgh!" she groans, turning around again.

I guess it didn't work.

"I'm going back up to the castle," Melissa says, her eyes distant. "I'll have to dry myself off. You should too."

"Why?" I ask, with genuine curiosity. "I'm already wet – why do I need to be dry?"

She doesn't deign to answer, turning away instead and disappearing into the maze of hedges behind us as I trail my hand through the water.

Ouch. Stupid fish.

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"Is everything alright, Princess?" the Captain asks me, opening the carriage door. I glance up at him, suddenly acutely conscious of what a sight I must look.

"Yes," I say without conviction. He bites his lip, and it's obvious that he doesn't believe me – not that that was my intention anyway.

"I know this isn't my place, ma'am …" the Captain says, hesitating. I smile wanly.

"Sir, I've run away from my duty and masqueraded as a stable girl for weeks. I doubt any abandonment of propriety on your part is going to affect my view of you or the world," I tell him directly, holding his gaze for a long moment. It frightens me how easily I seem to be able to switch into the role of the Princess – so much easier than ever before.

The Captain smiles benevolently, shrugging lightly. "Your parents really do want the best for you," he tells me quietly. "They were distraught when you left."

"Distraught because I had left, or distraught because their chances of reinforcing ties with their neighbours had disappeared?" I ask in an acidic tone. The Captain looks away, and I shake my head. "Rhetoric question, Sir. You don't have to answer that."

He smiles uncertainly. "We're just entering the city now, Princess," he tells me, quickly steering the subject into safer zones. "We'll reach the castle in a few moments. Your parents will want to see you."

I nod faintly, leaning back in my seat and closing my eyes, letting the steady rhythm of the horses' trot lull me into a dreamless sleep.

When I next open my eyes, the Captain is there again, and I'm on my feet before I know it. He gives me a quick glance and offers me his hand. Looking up at him, I thank him silently, realising for the first time how blue his eyes are. Maybe I'll turn into my sister with time. He nods, acknowledging my thanks, and we step down.

The light is blinding at first, and I blink to register my surroundings. We are standing on the front steps of the castle, where crowds used to gather to watch us – the Royals – leave the castle. There are no crowds this time – no one wants to watch a disgraced princess return home, and I'm secretly glad for it, and not the slightest bit surprised. What I am surprised about, is a small figure at the top of the stairs, arm resting delicately on the balustrade as she descends elegantly.

It's Melissa.

I don't make a single move, opting instead to stand by the Captain as my sister walks towards me. It's the first time I've been face to face with her for such a long time. Her hair isn't piled up fashionably this time – it's in a single braid down her back, and her face is devoid of all makeup. Her dress is simple and monochromatic, and the expression on her face breaks my heart.

"Jasmine?" she whispers, and I nod in reply, my throat suddenly too dry.

"Hi," I croak, and suddenly we are hugging, because no matter how much we've both changed, we're still sisters and we should still acknowledge that somehow, right?

I pull back, looking at her, searching for the person I once knew, and I have to admit that I do see a lot more of her than I used to. Maybe it's because I'm looking for her, or maybe … maybe she just is.

"Mother wants to see you," she says quietly, her eyes wide and appraising as well. Maybe she's looking for the memory of me too.

I nod.

"Now?" I ask.

"Now," she confirms.

"Dressed like this?" I joke, and her mouth twists up in a wry half-grin. There's something wrong with her – I just don't know what. And apparently I don't have the time now to discover what.

"Well, who knows?" she says flippantly, though I can hear bitterness ringing in her voice. "Maybe you'll start a trend. Straw-strewn hair, I like it."

I reach up to brush my hair self-consciously. "I do not have straw in my hair!"

Melissa smiles. "You should. It'd go with your image."

Next to me, the Captain coughs pointedly. "Princesses, we can't keep your parents waiting." I nod, glancing back at the guards that line the street now, raising my head to acknowledge them.

"Shall we go then?" I ask, and he nods, all traces of mirth and humanity vanishing from his face. It's like looking at a stone table – nothing will crack it.

Except maybe another stone … hm …. Food for thought.

Requires a mind with teeth. Or not.

As the Captain and I tread through the carpeted hallways, my feet tracing a well-rehearsed pattern on the floor, Melissa melts away into one of the doors, and I realise that I have never known my sister, have never tried to know my sister, and possibly may never know my sister. It's a sorry state of affairs, but only to be expected when our family is as ruined as ours is. We have never been a family, and we have never attempted to be one. At the ball, I could tell that my fiancé's family was so tightly-knitted in a way that I've never experienced, and I suppose it wouldn't be too bad to be a part of that.

The Captain relinquishes my hand, and I realised that we're in front of a big, brown door.

"Good luck," he says, the stone exterior melting for half a second. I nod grimly and push the door open.

It's like a memory – it's exactly the same as the last time I was here. My parents seated at the other end of the room, the servants lining the halls … the only thing that's changed is me. I'm different.

Or am I?

Striding down the carpet confidently, I kneel before my parents.

"Father. Mother," I acknowledge them, and wait for the storm of fury to wash over me.

My expectations are not unfounded. As my parents rage on and on about my irresponsibility – not bothering to send the servants away, revelling instead in the humiliation of their daughter – I tune out. I know better than to apologise, because for one, I'm not sorry, and for two, forgiveness was too foreign a word for my parents to comprehend.

I wonder when I started viewing my family in such clinical terms.

Tuning back in, my parents seem to have run out of steam. I look up at them, and secretly pity them – two unhappy people forced to be unhappy together.

However, it becomes hard to feel sorry for them when I hear their next words:

"You will marry the Crown Prince by the end of this week, whether we have to shackle you to your chair or not."

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A/N: Don't shoot! –holds hands up to protect self- I've taken ever so long to update, and I'll probably take ever so long to update again, and I'm so so sorry, if that means anything. On the up side, this story is nearly finished, so you won't have to put up with my sporadic updates for much longer, unless I decide to do a sequel, which at this stage doesn't seem likely- at least not until I finish all my other stories. Everything's getting really intense, and I'm so scared about my future (and I don't know what to dooo … 'Talk' – Coldplay).

On a more authory note (as opposed to a grovelly note), I know this chapter's style is a little different from what we've been used to in the past chapters – a little darker, I guess. I've tried to lighten it up to make it more consistent, but also maintained the contrasts. Tell me if it worked or not.

Readers, if you still exist for this story, thank you so much for your support, and please don't give up on me now. Do drop me a line and tell me how you think everything's going and flame me for my inadequacies for all you like – I don't mind. I just want to hear from you.

Cheers,

Sardine.