Chapter 1
I’m hiding in a broom closet right now. If you know who I am, that probably sounds weird. And if you don’t, then nice to meet you. I’m Princess Maeve Etta Lemire, fourteenth in line for the throne of Andrewsberg.
That means I’m one of the lucky few born into the Royal Family that don’t actually become king or queen. Some people would think that’s unlucky, but I consider it a blessing.
That is, unless it happens to be time for some big event. That’s when I hide in a closet or wherever. This time it’s an engagement announcement to the public. My sister, Nona, is getting married to this girl she met a few years ago at a Peoples’ Ball. Nona got her a job in the Palace, and I’ve caught them sneaking around a few times since, so it’s really no surprise to me. Seeing as they’ve never met Skye, Mother and Father were a little taken aback, but they’re happy because a Royal Wedding always makes the people happier.
Anyway, everyone is preparing, and it’s loud, and everyone is frantic, and I cannot stand another second of it all. So I came to this closet. I feel bad about abandoning my maid, Christie, but she’s going nuts about the whole situation. She’s trying to figure out what I’m supposed to wear and last I saw, she was pretty frantic. I needed the attention off of me, and as the youngest of six but also princess, that can be pretty easy, or pretty hard. Depends on how you look at it.
So I’m sitting in a closet, probably getting dusty and dirty, but the sounds of the palace are muffled by the large wooden door, so that’s enough consolation. I stare at the stone walls and the tiny shaft of light coming from the window and the brittle shelves and the cobwebs for several minutes before reaching down the front of my dress to take out the folded up paper I keep there.
I carefully peel back the corners until the thing stretches out to a family tree. My family tree.
I’m not sure about most people, but my family tree is sort of important. Not just because all of us are Royal, but it’s the things that come with that, like who is in line for the throne, or simple things, like how your distance from the king is directly related to the seating chart at state dinners.
In any case, I like having a copy on me. I’m not sure why, but it’s strangely comforting to know who came before me, and to see all the possibilities laid out in front of me. For instance, if anything happened to the king, my mother would step into the position of queen. After that it goes to my brother, Nathan; his wife, Angie; their kids, Ari and Asher; my sister Jamie; and so on and so on until you get to Harold Denham, last in line at thirty-third. He’s a distant cousin of mine, and I’ve only ever met him once, but the general impression was creep.
I trace my fingers over the rough paper, the inked lines I drew myself, very carefully, one day when the palace was quiet.
It’s a nice setting. Just me and my family tree in the quiet closet, nothing but a shaft of light and the stories of my ancestors to keep me company, but I don’t mind at all, really. I like the solitude it provides. It’s much nicer than any of the party preparations, the hustle and bustle of the world outside.
