• A young girl of about nine played a tune on her wooden flute. She was sitting on the broad rail of her balcony, feet kicking in the fine blue silk breeches and good leather boots that her father, the king, had ordered she wear for riding practice (She had just returned from that very activity) so that she didn’t ruin her expensive dresses. Her acorn brown hair gleamed against her snowflake skin. A little brown bird joined in her song, and her cheeks flushed with joy. She played another tune and sang the verses with the bird, hazely green eyes twinkling with enjoyment. She giggled when the bird tried to sing with the complicated flute melody and got it mixed up. Her name was Princess the First Alexima Rabinan Courren Domen Rosesia, heir to the Rosesian throne, as the queen had only two daughters, Alexima and Andrea, and no sons.

    Another girl, the same age as little Alexima and practically a mirror image of her except for the emerald dress she wore, hovered in the doorway behind and to the right of Alexima. Her eyes weren’t laughing and warm, like her sister’s, but cold and angry. Her name was Princess the Second Andrea Nephra Livia Accarina Rosesia, twin to Alexima and second to the throne. She glared at her sister. How dare she? First she befriends those puny servant brats, and now she sits upon this balcony in that scandalous outfit for all to see, putting a smudge on both of our reputations. And that peasant bird! T’were it a peacock, or a royal blue finch, t’wouldn’t be so awful, but that plain little sparrow is just so . . . So not dignified. All the more reason to continue. She set her face into the contented mask that any noble learns by about age five to hide their emotions at court. The sun was setting, so it was not likely that Alexima would see and recognize the expression. She would notice a look of anger, though, so Andrea hid hers. She stepped out onto the balcony.

    “Good evening, dear sister Alexima. I trust this evening finds you well?” Her formal speech was natural for her, even speaking to her twin. She took being the second heir to all of Rosesia very seriously.

    ‘Course it does, no thanks to you, Princess butt-face, thought the observer of the princesses. He was hidden in a secret passage built into the castle wall, watching from a place where a corner of a brick had been chipped out. He could only see onto the balcony, but he could hear just fine. If I get caught, I’ll wring Taybur’s retarded neck, page or no, for daring me to this. How’m I supposed to shout ‘Boo!’ at Alex’ma and not get caught when she knows how I sound? Ugh, I’ll get my revenge anyhow. T’morrow, he promised himself. The passage got just enough light from the dying sun that if you knew precisely where to look and what to look for, you could just see the dirty gold hair that stubbornly hung near his uncommonly blue eyes. It was too dark to see the straight nose, stubborn mouth, and pointed chin that made his features a little too big for a boy of his ten years. If he had brought a candle, you would see the brown uniform, trimmed with scarlet and silver, of a palace stable boy. The scarlet and silver was the only thing that made his uniform any different from one of a stable boy in the employ of Eckal, or Fairiq, or Garrin nobles. But his marked him as in the employ of King Rabinan Courren Domen Jikol Rosesia himself. But he didn’t bring any light, nor was he invited, so no one was the wiser that he was there, watching the two princesses. His name was Darren Summersong.

    “Yes, it does,” Alexima replied to Andrea. She turned around and smiled at her sister before continuing her song where she had left off. She played another few measures on her flute, and sang the second verse of the song:
    “Star, Star!
    You are so far away!
    Can’t come to see you today!
    Got my chores here!
    And the melody I hear!-
    The men - they laugh
    As the women gossip
    And the children bray like little don-kays!
    That’s why, O star!
    Can’t come to see you today!”

    Andrea seethed under her mask. She knew where Alexima had learned that song. And it wasn’t from the court minstrel. It wasn’t permitted for the princesses to sing songs about that subject. That song in was a ballad about Hadik the Hammer, an ancient hero called by the gods to save the queen. In the beginning, he was just a farmer’s second son, refusing the gods’ call (Star. Star!/Can’t come to see you today!) with some excuse or another. In the end, the queen fell in love with Hadik and abandoned her post to live the life of a peasant like Hadik. It didn’t set a good example to future Queens. Andrea just hated that Alexima dared to sing this peasants’ song in full view of the whole town. It was degrading.

    “Sister, wilt thou speak truthfully?” She inquired.

    Alexima lowered her flute down into her lap. “Yes, I will.”

    Andrea had no doubt that Alexima spoke the truth. Never had she lied to Andrea. Honestly, Andrea wasn’t at all sure that she could. So she chose her words carefully as she said, “Perchance thou would prefer a peasant’s life to your own. Would thou?”

    Alexima smiled. I know what you’re really asking. ‘Will you lie to me?’ Well, I won’t let you get me to lie. I know what I’m supposed to say. But I won’t. She turned around and replied honestly, “Of course I would, sister Andrea. And ‘peasant’ isn’t a very nice name. They’re people. They just aren’t Silver Rose.”

    “You would prefer the lowly life of a servant, or a - a farmhand - to a life of a high-born Silver Rose?” Andrea questioned again, stumbling a little over her sheer hatred for such people.

    “Yes, I would.”

    Andrea put her hands on Alexima’s chest. “You prefer the low life,” she stated softly, as if she couldn’t quite believe it. Her voice turned sharper than steel as she dropped her mask and continued, “And so you shall have it!” She flicked her wrists forward, pushing the First Princess off of the balcony.

    Darren’s eyes widened when he realized what was happening. “No, she’ll die!” he cried out as Andrea’s wrists flicked.

    Andrea turned to stare coldly at precisely where he was hiding, as if she knew he was there. Four words escaped her young lips.


    “And so she shall.”