Marcie sneaked through the halls of the palace, careful to avoid being detected. She'd slept straight through breakfast and lunch. She hadn't fallen asleep till dawn. There really was no reason for it, other than she found that the nights left her feeling lonely, and the loneliness made her sad, and the sadness made her cry until she could not anymore.
Now she was on her way to the kitchen. Two lefts, a right, straight until she hit the menacing head bust, one more left, and she should be there. She knew it was a good time to grab a snack, as the staff would be eating lunch themselves and out of the room. Whatever she grabbed would hold her over until dinner.
At this point, avoiding people was like a game. She'd become exceptional at blending in. Bits of gossip about herself had been scarce lately. Though most everyone agreed she was odd, they had nothing new to say about her. Refusing to attend school, spending her day alone, sometimes in the hayloft, evading the other members of the royal household, none of that was news anymore. Even her musical inclinations had largely fallen by the wayside, in terms of chatter.
"Music," Marcie muttered, sullenly. "That piano was beautiful."
She looked down at her hand, the palm with a fading scab. The skin underneath was bright pink. She wound her arms around her like a shield. More than anything she wanted to go back and play, give the instrument the diligence it deserved. But she knew it would make the separation that much harder when she would leave.
"Can't get used to this," she reminded herself, absently pushing up the sleeves of her dress. "'S only for now, then I go back to real life."
She sucked in a breath, and then released it, slowly. The pangs of homesickness were still there, still raw. She couldn't focus on that right now though, it was too…messy. Instead, she turned right, and squinted. At the end of the hall was…Melody?
Her ear was pressed against the door, and her brows had drawn low. A guard stood outside the door, standing tall, looking straight ahead, ignoring the princess' presence. She seemed to be listening in on a conversation inside and digesting its contents. Marcie's red brows rose, and although she took one look down the way she knew the kitchen was, she instead went down this hall.
Her footsteps were as quiet as she could make them, but still loud enough that it alert the other girl to her presence. Startled, Melody pulled away from the door, her eyes connecting with Marcie's. Then, her eyes were cast down, looking extremely interested in the marble floor.
"Hi," Melody mumbled, awkwardly pulling at the end of her ponytail. The girls had barely spoken in the last week.
"What'cha doing?" Marcie responded, briefly looking at the door. She frowned, her face scrunching up as she recognized the room now. The guard standing at attention acknowledged her presence with a short head bow, before returning to his post, not batting an eye. "That's…the office, right?"
"Study," Melody corrected, biting her lip. "The Duke of Groven requested an audience. Mom and Dad fit him in before they talk to Grimsby about the agricultural interests."
"Which means…?" Marcie wondered, the terminology unfamiliar to her.
"The Duke of Groven wanted to talk to Mom and Dad privately," Melody explained.
"Oh, yeah?" Marcie asked, cocking her head to the side. "That's the guy who's third in line, right? What does he wanna talk about?"
Melody skipped a beat, before answering, slowly, "…you."
That threw Marcie off. Her nose scrunched up further, and clueless, she wondered, "Why?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out," Melody muttered, mostly to herself. She sighed, impatient, looking to the door, then back at Marcie. "I can't hear anything."
"Why do you wanna find out?" Marcie wondered, her face now smoothing out, and a frown settling on her lips. "If it's 'bout me, why do you care?"
"I like to be informed," Melody supplied, shrugging. She scrutinized the girl, before asking, "Do you…If you're talking to me…does that mean you accept my apology now? It's been a whole week."
"No," Marcie said, shortly, simply. Having been stung twice now, she was not in a forgiving mood. "You totally went off on me. I knew I should've trusted my gut when you snitched on me."
"But we're sisters," Melody pointed out, pulling her arms behind her restlessly. "Mom and her sisters argue, but then someone apologizes, and they move on."
"You've got a lot to learn about being a sister," Marcie said, her tone frank. "Me and Adam always have each other's backs."
"This is all new to me, I've never had a sister before," Melody tried to say by way of explanation, sighing. Her mother had been on her to make amends, to take that first step over their misunderstanding. But Marcie was not having it. "I've never had someone not accept my apology before, either."
"Tough," Marcie answered, bluntly. "Apologies don't change anything. They just make you feel better."
Melody frowned, feeling the familiar need to answer with a retort, before pressing her lips firmly together. The girl before her was struggling, and it showed. The glasses did a good job hiding them, but it was still obvious that the other teen had a rough night. Circles under her eyes proved as much, and standing so close, Melody could tell her eyes were swollen because she'd been crying.
Melody tried to soften her tone. After all, she knew what it was like to not fit in. "What's so wrong with that? I do feel bad. Mother always says I should be more sympathetic towards what others may be going through. I didn't know you were too poor to afford new boots."
"If I wanted to splurge on boots, with my money, I could've. I've been working since I was old enough to hold a shovel," Marcie snapped, her cheeks bright red with embarrassment. "But I decided to help with bills instead and saved the rest for the holidays. I don't need your pity, I made a choice."
"I'm not pitying you," Melody answered, her tone edging on frustration. Why couldn't they be like what she assumed normal siblings were like? Why couldn't they apologize and move on? "I'm trying to say I'm sorry and that I understand now."
Marcie felt her jaw drop in shock. Melody, living in this giant castle, with everything anyone could want handed to her on a silver platter, understanding her circumstances? She doubted Melody had ever worried about keeping the heat on in the winter or wearing sweaters to hide bruises in the summer. This girl knew nothing of her life.
"You'll never understand. I'm not accepting your apology," Marcie answered, decisively. "Just because I have to be here doesn't mean I have to like you."
Melody stared at her. She understood already! Harmony's old life clearly was marked by financial struggle, and she'd taken the opportunity to buy new boots when she had it. Perhaps calling attention to her flirting and being so jealous over it hadn't been very mature, but this was ridiculous! Why was she so difficult? It wasn't like their disagreement was world ending!
"Have it your way, then," Melody finally said, begrudgingly. She wouldn't waste her time; the girl made it perfectly clear where they stood. "I'm going to the beach. I can't hear what they're saying, anyway."
"Suit yourself," Marcie responded, watching as Melody abruptly turned on her heel.
She let out a long breath, unwinding her arms. She felt the heaviness of homesickness gnaw at her again; Adam would have rolled his eyes and told her to get over herself.
Loud voices suddenly emanated from the door. She looked to it, startled. She could have sworn someone mentioned the word 'Harmony'. She looked up at the guard, who didn't flinch at the noise, and her eyebrows knit together. Eavesdropping wasn't nice, but if Melody was right, and they were talking about her…
Marcie flitted her eyes down the hallway, and then leaned into the door.
"…monarchy…she doesn't know…isn't willing to learn," an aggravated male voice stated. Marcie made a face, having only caught every other word, and pressed her ear closer to the door to listen in.
"She hasn't had time," another male voice defended, clearer, this one closer to the door. He sounded exasperated. "You're basing this opinion on gossip. And if you're putting any stock into those speculative articles, then it might be beneficial to recall that even Ariel and I are not immune to the pettiness of the tabloids."
"…almost a month!" That was the first male voice again, indignant. "In that time… custom dictates…public hasn't seen her!"
"She's a teenager," came the firm response, a female voice now. "And our daughter. When we feel she's ready, we'll introduce her to the kingdom, and not a moment before. She's not the Crown Princess, she doesn't have the same obligations as Melody."
"…wanted to!" The first male voice pressed, the owner of it nearly barking out his words. "The Royal Line of Succession Act of…when a prince or princess is unwilling…stricken from…"
"That's a drastic step to take when it's been barely a month," the female voice said, sounding slightly alarmed, but mostly annoyed. "And it can only be invoked at the will of the sovereign. Eric and I have no intention of—"
A tap on Marcie's shoulder made her whirl around, confused. A tall gentleman, looking faintly amused, stood before her. He carried papers with him that looked important. He also looked important, from the way his suit had no wrinkles, to the fact that his gray hair had been pulled back into a short ponytail. He was much clearly older than either Eric or Ariel, and lanky to boot.
"Hear anything of interest?" He asked, raising a single brow at the girl.
She saw surprise flash across his face briefly as she looked up at him, before it disappeared; he could hide his emotions better than she could. She flushed, stepping back from him, wary. She flashed a look to the guard, who still stared straight ahead, and wondered, briefly, if she got hurt, would he intervene.
"They're talkin' about me, in there," Marcie said, by way of explanation, looking down towards the floor. Her worn shoes scuffed the marble. "I gotta right to know what they're saying."
"Certainly," the man answered, his response cool, if not slightly sarcastic. "But that was not my question."
"Why do you wanna know?" Marcie wondered, a sense of heightened security coming up on her. She briefly looked up, eyes narrowed in suspicion, before lowering them again. "Who're you anyway?"
"Chalk it up to intellectual pursuit," the man replied, evenly, before entering a bow. "Lord Grimsby. And you are…?"
Marcie frowned at her shoes. Her shoulders tightened. There was no easy answer to this question anymore. "Everyone calls me Marcie, back home. But here, they say my name's Harmony."
There was a slight pause, as though the man was slightly surprised, but he hid it well. He asked, slowly, "Which do you prefer?"
"Marcie," the teen said, without hesitation. She surprised even herself with the quick response, needing no time to think about who preferred to be. "I like being Marcie. Uh, called Marcie, I mean."
"I see," the man said, his voice thoughtful.
It threw Marcie off; she looked up to see him studying her, as though she was some sort of puzzle. She took another step back, her frown deepening. She didn't like being studied like an animal at the zoo.
"You're not gonna snitch, are you?" Her voice held a worried edge, but her ice-blue eyes held steady to his.
He raised his eyebrows. "Pardon?"
"You're not gonna tattle and say I was eavesdropping, are you?" Marcie explained. She stole a look to the door, and a fleeting wince flew across her face, almost too fast to catch, and then her eyes were back to his.
"Why would I?" The man wondered, his brows still raised. "By your own admission, the conversation pertains to you."
"I dunno," the teen answered, pushing up her glasses. He caught a glimpse of the scratch across her palm, and seemed to note it. "People here are different. Ratting someone out is like, okay, here, even though it's totally not tidal. And I don't wanna get in trouble…"
Her voice faded off, as though she recalled something, but her eyes never left his face, scrutinizing him as he did to her.
He cleared his throat, asking curiously, "Speaking from experience?"
"I asked you a question first," Marcie shot back, holding her ground, with a fair bit of impertinence in her tone. She did not trust this man; she could see his carefully probing questions trying to obtain more information from her.
An amused smile crept onto his features, as though he saw something in her tone that reminded him of something, or someone, else. "Indeed, you did."
Marcie twisted her lips. That wasn't an answer, that was an acknowledgment. She wanted to be on notice, in case Ariel or Eric asked her later why she'd been listening at the door.
She opened her mouth to say as much, but before she could utter a word, the door slammed open. Marcie jumped, stumbling back a few steps, eyes wide. Out stalked a man who hardly gave any of the people in the hall a glance. She barely got a good look at his face, but from the way he carried himself, she could tell he was furious.
"Why is he like that?" Marcie asked, hugging her knees close to her chest. "Always so angry. Why is he never in a good mood?"
Adam looked over at her, briefly, then turned his eyes back to the road. His old car was noisy, even on the paved streets. He said nothing for a long moment, digesting the words, trying to phrase his answer carefully.
"He's not always angry," he said at length, pointing it out. "Last week he came home with a teddy bear, didn't he?"
"Only 'cause my nose wouldn't stop bleeding and I ruined my favorite shirt," Marcie answered back, snorting, her hand instinctively raising to her nose. The swelling and bruising had gone down, but the memory remained. "I was gonna wear that shirt today, for the first day of high school. And I'm too old for stuffed animals."
"He's usually only like that when he's had a few," Adam explained, gray eyes never leaving the road before him. They had to pick up school supplies and the drive to Kearney was halfway through. "Otherwise, he's…alright enough."
"Yeah, 'cause he's sleeping it off," Marcie responded, poking at the car's AC vents. "Or he says sorry to make himself feel better. He always says he'll change, but he never does."
"He wasn't always like this," Adam responded, his eyes sliding over to his sister. "When he first got with Mom, he used to take me to Little League, and he bought me my first camera. She liked that he stuck around, 'cause, you know, my Dad split when Mom got pregnant."
"I know the story, Adam," Marcie answered, impatiently, annoyed. "Emily saw him looking lost, holding a baby wrong, and she let him crash on the couch for the weekend. They got together after that, got married, and he was a great dad until she died."
"Yeah, well, my point is that 'great dad' is under there, somewhere," Adam answered, sharply. "He's not even your real dad, but when he found you, he took you in, and kept you."
"Wish he hadn't," Marcie muttered, bitterly. "Wish he would've left me wherever he found me."
Adam gave her a dark look. "Don't say that. Who knows where you would've ended up if the old man hadn't taken you in, and Mom didn't adopt you?"
"Never in a good mood, that man," the tall thin man before Marcie mentioned, a note of incredulousness in his voice. He looked ahead, to the now open door, and then back at Marcie. He seemed…amused. "I suppose that's my cue, then. A pleasure to make your acquaintance…Marcie."
"You too," Marcie responded, watching as he walked breezily into the room. Her arms loosened as he disappeared behind the closing door. She'd never gotten an answer to her question. "I guess."
Disclaimer: Ariel, Eric, Melody, Grimsby, and the setting for this story are from The Little Mermaid, which is property of Disney. I own nothing; everything represented from the film(s), tv series, etc. is/are the property of Disney. Other characters are from my own imagination and are not associated with Disney.