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Three and a half months after my sixteenth birthday, I did the unthinkable, the most dreadful thing I could do to shock my poor family. It was something of which they would never dream, not even for me. Somewhere between Father's repeated story of how he had met Mother and the chaos of Willow releasing another 'pet' into the dining hall, I mentioned that Father might consider arranging a marriage for me.

It was terrible, downright scandalous. Mother screamed right then and there and Father laughed as if I were joking, which I was not. Willow and Lydia just stared at me.

I repeated my request again. "I wouldn't mind an arranged marriage."

Father stopped laughing. Willow, who was barely twelve and yet dwarfed only by Father, looked like she might burst into tears.

"Is this what you want?" Mother asked seriously. "You want to marry a stranger?"

"I'm sure Father will find someone nice for me to marry," I replied. I didn't see what the big fuss was about. Other princesses had their marriages arranged. Why should I be any different?

"I'm sure I could," Father said in a rather distant-sounding voice as his fork attempted to find its way to the vegetable-and-rice medley we were eating. "But... wouldn't you prefer to find your own husband?"

"If my marriage were arranged without my permission," Lydia said, "I would run away."

Of course, it wouldn't be terribly dramatic for her to do such a thing. She was twenty-three. But Lydia didn't need an arranged marriage. She was beautiful, and she had plenty of admirers. She would never understand.

I was beautiful, too. No one could deny that, and since it was one of my few qualities I was continually complimented. My hair was brown, but a good, rich brown. It was thick and wavy, just as a princess' hair should be. Sometimes I wondered if I should just cut it all off. That wouldn't be the typical princess thing to do. I'm sure Lydia would applaud me for doing that. But no matter what Lydia thought, I could never do that. I liked my hair too much. After Lydia applauded me, she would kill me. She liked my hair, too.

She was my big sister by seven years, but she seemed to be the only one that would try to understand me.

About a week after I proposed the arranged marriage, I sat in our room watching Lydia polish her new knife, a gift from some Prince Claud, one of her many admirers. Of course she had many. They couldn't get enough of a woman who would try to beat them at their own sports. She sat in the middle of the floor, the skirt of her dress spread before her, the other eight knives in her collection resting on it--she didn't want them to collect dirt from the floor. I leaned against my bed, the one with the big, frilly pink coverlet and the big, fluffy pillows--also pink. I couldn't help it; I liked pink.

"I still think you should run away," Lydia said. "That's what I would do."

I sighed. "But you forget that the arranged marriage was my idea in the first place."

She bit her lip as she sharpened her knife against the stone. A strand of red hair was caught against her face; I wondered if it bothered her. "It doesn't matter. You, Moriah, are probably the only princess that would ever suggest an arranged marriage. My dear little sister, marrying herself off to some stranger."

"Father wouldn't marry me to someone unkind," I replied. "He would find someone nice."

Lydia rolled her eyes and held the knife up to the light, where the blade glinted. "Why do you want someone nice? At least, nice the way I interpret the word. Nice means you are kind and decent, the sort of person that would never get into trouble, the sort of person that doesn't have the intelligence to get into trouble. Nice implies that one is boring."

I laughed and squeezed my knees into my chest. "I didn't realize you could be so mean."

She grinned and set the knife down. "I'm not the one that said such things. I heard it from the Pest." The Pest was the name she had given Willow, all in loving kindness, of course.

"Willow is twelve," I said. "She shouldn't be thinking about men, nice or not."

"The girl has spirit, though."

I hated it when she said things like that. It was as if she were saying I had none of whatever she attributed to Willow. She probably didn't mean that, but it was how I felt. I gritted my teeth and said nothing.

"You should still run away, though," Lydia continued, picking up another knife. "I would. I could never let myself marry someone I didn't love."

"I can't run away from a marriage I suggested," I said. "Besides, everyone is in love with you."

She laughed. "No, they're not. They just can't get over the amazement they feel when I beat them. That's it. You should join a jousting tournament, disguised as a knight. Then you can meet someone and fall in love. There."

"That's what Father suggested last week," I said. Father had suggested we hold contests for my hand— and I would secretly join them. Mother had suggested I attend a foreign court on a diplomatic mission.

"Climb a mountain. Did you know that Prince Claud climbed a mountain? By himself? He wants me to join him sometime, if he ever does it again."

I sighed. She was talking about herself again. She was actually interesting enough to talk about herself. "You think I should climb a mountain?"

She finally brushed the hair away from her face. "No, I don't, truthfully. You're not the type that climbs mountains."

"Then what type am I?" It was practically a futile question, the beginning of a conversation we had repeated countless times.

She grinned brightly at me, knowing her cue. "You're the Moriah type."

"And what, pray tell, does that mean?" I reached behind and fumbled for a pillow, extra fluffy, and considered throwing it at her. But that would be mean.

"You're your own type," she said simply. "And that's all."

Sometimes that answer made me furious. Other times it was comforting, in an odd way. This time, I felt comforted. She still didn't get it. Lydia was exciting and adventurous. Willow was smart. I could sing and sew prettily.

"It doesn't matter," she continued. "No one would ask Willow to climb a mountain. They would invite her to explore a library, and then have hot cocoa afterwards." She sounded as if she detested the entire idea.

I smiled to myself. Maybe my request for an arranged marriage was my own act of rebellion. I liked to think of it that way, and I stored that thought in my heart as my own little secret. Lydia and Willow could find princes to marry them. Maybe an arranged marriage was my only chance for love. Love. That was something I thought about a lot. Lydia and Willow and even Mother said that it was silly to think about, not when there were so many other important things in the world. But then... they wanted me to marry for love.

Some days my family made absolutely no sense at all.

But I didn't like reading. I didn't like politics. I didn't like playing outdoors all day long.

What was wrong with an arranged marriage?

"I still think you should run away," Lydia said, completely out of the blue.

I again thought of tossing the pillow.