It Started With a Kiss

| 1: It Started With a Kiss |

"But let there be spaces in your togetherness and let the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another but make not a bond of love: let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls."

~ Khalil Gibran

| It | Started | With | a | Kiss |

Every great love story has an unconventional beginning. Mine is a kiss. I am Rebecca Blaise Lawson, social deviant and strawberry extravagant, who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was only one way forward from that moment, and that was a mutual awkwardness called love.

It was an unrealistic, cliché type of romance. He was well-known and supposedly amiable, and I despised him without reason. I loved frustrating people to no end, and with him, I couldn't stop.

I always was a wild little girl, chasing the pigs through the mud and refusing Mr. Ferrars' proposal. My heart was my guide because my thoughts persuaded me to surrender my youth. In a way, no one was surprised when they heard of little Rebecca causing chaos in the Thalasinia castle.

The sea dances beside the carriage, the salty air tantalizing and addicting in its freedom. I inhale, letting my eyes flutter closed as I relax into the warm summer sun. Sighing, my twin sister shakes my shoulder.

"Rebecca!" She says loudly. "Mother is talking. Pay attention."

I internally groan, opening my eyes and turning towards my devious mother, whose face is squished into a tiresome scowl. "Rebecca," she reprimands, "You promised not to make a fool of your sister tonight. I need you to act as a lady. Shoulders back."

Annoyed, I straighten my back parallel to Adelia's. After folding my hands neatly in my lap, I avert my gaze back to the sea. I memorize every dip the rolling waves make as they hit the sand, sinking back into itself as its passion subsides.

"The rules?" Mother asks, fanning her face. Adelia laughs in jest of my assumed incompetence.

"Yes Rebecca, why don't you repeat the rules?" Adelia prods.

I hold back my urge to be impolite, and keep my eyes trained on the sea. "Rule number one," I begin through gritted teeth, "is to be polite. Rule number two is to refrain from ranting. Rule number three, is never sneak away. And rule number four is to act as an amiable lady at all times."

"What must you do?" Mother asks.

"Contain yourself in a woman's mind," Adelia and I say together on instinct.

"Exceedingly well," Mother notes. "I expect you to avoid confrontation with anyone important Rebecca, but do procure at least one dance with a Prince lest you wish punishment upon yourself."

A darling contradiction mother, I think.

After turning away she says, "Adelia, do as you please. I am sure you will find your future well in place after tonight."

The carriage begins to slow as we turn around a bend, and the castle comes into view. The crystal white walls gleam and sparkle, nearly blinding to the naked eye. The structure and architectural design is flawless from my perspective. The turrets are a pretty blue color, distinguished from the rest of the palace.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Adelia exclaims. In response, I nod, despite knowing no one will take time to notice.

As we pull in front of the castle steps, I gather my lavender skirt in my hands. My mother reminds me to follow the rules one last time, but as I exit the carriage, my thoughts are preoccupied by my own guidelines. I, myself, have an easy, foolproof plan to avoid attention and mainly, confrontation with the Princes.

Simply put, I will avoid standing out, avoid conversation, and stay tucked away in the farthest corner of the ballroom. It is easy to complete, and impossible to fail when followed. I will not fail tonight.

To my mother's dismay, I hike my skirt up to my knees and begin ascending the stairs into an excited crowd.

"Rebecca!" She shouts angrily. "You must follow the rules!"

I roll my eyes and snort as her cries fade away. I had hope she would know me by now. I glance over my shoulder, studying the setting sun for a fleeting moment before lifting my shoulders and continuing to cross over the castle threshold.

As I step into the beautiful and lavish hallway, I begin to realize how truly magnificent the castle is, and how easy it will be for me to remain unnoticed. I follow the ebbing tide of guests into the ballroom, stepping carefully to avoid accidentally knocking into someone.

I finally reach the spiraling stairway. I briefly look down upon the mingling ladies and men, unable to tell who is royalty and who is common like me.

I plaster a smile on my face as I reach the announcer.

"Your name?" He asks, a fake and bored smile similar to my own covering his wrinkled features.

"Must I be introduced?" I ask hopefully.

His eyebrows lift in scepticism. "I am afraid so," he answers tartly.

I sigh, rubbing my forehead in distress for a second. "Rebecca Lawson, daughter of Edwin and Alice Lawson," I relent.

"And which Prince do you favor milady?" he asks.

Ah. The real reason everyone is here. This ball isn't an ordinary one. It is the Choosing Ceremony, which in simpler terms, is the ball where each of the four Princes have a chance to find love or at least a wife, from any stature.

The four Princes are from different kingdoms of the Unity. I have only seen the Prince from my kingdom, and although he is handsome, can you love without knowing someone's laugh?

This in mind, I curtly answer, "None sir. I am here because it is decreed I must be."

If he is shocked, he hid it well. After clearing his throat, he declares in a loud booming voice, "Miss Rebecca Lawson, daughter of Edwin and Alice Lawson, in favor of none!"

A few people curiously glance up at me. I attempt to curtsey, but instead lose my balance. I sway, desperately clutching onto the railing to regain my footing. My cheeks flame a brilliant red as I begin my descent.

I hope no one saw that, I thought, but as a few wondrously dressed ladies laugh, the idea is quickly abandoned. Everyone saw that.

I hide my face behind a curtain of auburn hair, abashed. I decide against finding my best friends, Cia and Gail at that moment, and instead detour to the table of food lined against the wall. It doesn't take long for me to become distracted, an amalgamation of chocolate and strawberries.

"Milady," a meek voice says, interrupting my visions of dancing strawberries, "Would you like a refreshment?"

A kind smile blooms on my face, and I turn to face the woman who spoke. As I do, my eyes widen in shock. She looks down to the floor, clearly ashamed of the large red lines imprinted across her face.

"Oh my!" I exclaim. "A-are you alright?" Then, as anger blooms as a burning flame in my chest, I demand, "Who did this to you?"

The servant avoids meeting my gaze. "It is nothing milady. Do not worry. I deserved discipline."

My limbs shake and the strawberry in my hand slips between my fingers and onto the floor. I force a sickeningly sweet smile before I turn away and scowl, abruptly storming away.

I push angrily out of the doors, walking briskly down the hall. The people I pass look at me as if I am crazed, and I internally sigh. Mother will be so disappointed. I should apologize.

No. I’ve never been one to care what mother thinks.

As I find an abandoned hallway, I fling around the corner and press my back into the wall. I press my hand to my chest as it heaves. My thoughts swim in a cacophony of anger and empathy.

I quietly count aloud, trying to calm myself before I do something stupid.

"A petition," I murmur. "A petition to end servant abuse and slavery... No one will sign for that." I sigh in defeat.

I should talk to the servants. Put my soul at rest, I think. I debate a moment and then resolve to complete the task.

Peeling myself away from the wall, I glance down all the halls. I try to be logical. The kitchen must be near the ballroom, since they have to commute quickly between both areas, so it must be back where I came from.

I take a deep breath and turn back the way I came. There is no one in the halls at this point, which seems a little odd. I turn a corner, and after turning a few more, come to realize I am lost.

"Just great," I grumble. "I really thought I had been a good person up to this point." Suddenly, I can't help but laugh. The whole situation strikes me as hilarious. Me, Rebecca Blaise Lawson, is lost in a castle, when this is the last place on Earth I would ever want to be. I snort, brushing my fingers through my hair.

As I walk aimlessly, I study the fine light blue drapes detailed with golden embroidery, and the way they flutter elegantly over the windows. Every once in a while, I come across a small table, elegantly carved and beneath a vase of gorgeous white roses. The sunlight basks the walls in a golden glow, so serene and peaceful it seems to me that it has come out of a dream.

I run my fingers along the white walls, tracing the engraved details as I continue forward. I can not deny the castle's beauty, but my echoing footsteps makes the whole space seem forlorn. I groan in frustration.

"Hello?" I call out. "Is anyone near?"

I am met with a frozen silence. Not a bird chirps, or a long held breath sigh in relief of being set free.

I turn around, backtracking as well as I can remember, but still remaining absolutely and hopelessly lost. Agitation sets into my bones, but is soon calmed, when very faintly, I hear footsteps arise in another corridor.

"Wait!" I call, gathering my skirt in my hands and running desperately towards the source of the sound. "If you could wait, I am in need of assistance!"

I shoot around the corner, heaving slightly as I come to a halt. His eyes, a cold and reproachful blue, meet mine with an undeniable shock. His lips part and he looks at me as if I am unearthly. I press my hand to my collarbone, a nervous habit of mine, and drop it to my side.

"I apologize," I begin. "I got lost. I was looking for the slave quarters and..." I trail off awkwardly, before reimbursing my statement. "I-I wanted to free the slaves." I laugh, somewhat forced and awkward, somewhat genuine and happy.

He looks taken aback. "I beg your pardon?" He asks, taking a step backwards. His tone is cold, calculated, and even. His face is contorted into an emotionless mask. I decide to think of it as an inkblot. It can be anything I want it to be, and I want it to be happy.

I smile, twisting my hands together with this new thought in mind. "It can wait. I could not have done anything revolutionizing today anyways. My name is Reb," I introduce, offering my hand. He stares at it momentarily, as if he has never shaken hands with someone before, and then meets my eyes with a confused, and still cold gaze.

I awkwardly drop my hand. "Nevermind," I mumble, mother reminding me to be an amiable lady ringing in my subconscious.

"Reb?" he asks, his voice maintaining its cool glaze.

I nod, burying my hands in the fabric of my lavender skirt. "Something similar," I reassure him.

He opens his mouth as if he is going to speak, but as my gaze travels over his chest he pauses and eyes me curiously. My eyes latch onto the large dark brown spider scrambling down his navy sleeve.

I’m not sure how to react, as I have a slight fear of spiders, and intelligently say, "Um... spider."

His eyebrows quirk upwards, breaking his mask for a fleeting, easy to miss, second. "A spider?" The words leave his mouth in a sardonic manner. Then, he cries out and flings his hand frantically, the large creature flying across the hallway.

I squeal. "You hurt him!" I shout, bending towards the spider in worry, before becoming fearful and smashing it beneath my lacy shoe. I turn to meet his eyes, and he looks at me in pure amusement. I huff in irritation.

"You feared for the spider's life?" He questions, clutching his hand to his chest.

"Yes. I didn't say it for my own amusement," I say, irritated. "I'm not fond of your cold indifference or manner of superiority. I suggest you attempt to reform if you desire true social acceptance." Then, after a pause continue, "Let me see your hand."

His mouth falls into a troubled grimace, but he quickly returns his face to its natural inkblot. I frown as he doesn't reply, and then, in turn sigh. I approach him slowly, and he studies my every move with caution. When I reach him, I realize how tall he is compared to my average height.

"Please," I say.

He hesitates and then offers his hand. I take it between my fingers, slightly gasping as I behold the two large pinpricks in his skin. Already, his hand has turned a poisoned red and is burning hot. I press my lips into a thin line before resting my hand against his forehead. He is still cool.

"We need to take you to a doctor," I say. "I have enough money from the bakery. It won't be too much trouble. I'm sure I saw Dr. Richmond with his eldest daughter..."

The inkblot has melted into a look of pure confusion. "I need not your help," he says. "It is of no use to me."

The rudeness of his statement bewilders me. "I see," I reply coldly. "I will be going if you'll excuse me, sir."

"I apologize," he says stiffly. "I can help you find your way."

I study his shocking Aegean eyes for a moment. "I must know your name first."

Finally, he answers, "Callaghan." Wordlessly, he begins walking briskly down the hall with long strides. I struggle to keep up, blowing my hair out of my face repeatedly.

"Could you slow down Mr. Callaghan?" I huff. He comes to a stop, and I abruptly mimic him. Turning to me, he nods towards the door. I smile, brushing my fingers through my hair.

"Thank you," I say. Then changing my aggressive tone, continue, "And I suggest you smile. It tends to make even the ugliest of men handsome."

Without bothering to notice his reaction, I take a deep breath, and enter the ballroom once again. The dancing has yet to commence, but music quietly echoes throughout the room. It is difficult to extinguish one voice from the next, and one handsome face from another. Even so, I begin to search for my dearest companions, Cia and Gail.

I wind precariously between people, snagging hors d'oeuvres as trays pass by. Surprisingly fast, I find Gail and Cia engaged in a conversation by the tables along the right wall.

I take my time approaching. When I reach them, the pair doesn't notice my presence.

"The desperation in this room is suffocating me," I greet. Immediately, the two turn, smiling brightly.

"Poor Reb! You look absolutely miserable," teases Gail, a pretty blue eyed blonde. I groan, pressing the back of my hand to my forehead.

"You have no idea."

Cia and Gail laugh at my anti-social remark. "Tell me, how terrible has it been?" Cia asks, a somewhat terrifying gleam in her hazel eyes. "Did you meet someone?"

In synch, Gail and I snort. "Reb? I'd think not," she says in amusement, smoothing down the wrinkles in her brilliant golden bodice.

I twist my golden ring around my finger. "Well..." I start unsurely. Cia squeals.

"What? Who?" She demands. Gail takes my hands in hers, bouncing excitedly on her heels.

I roll my eyes. "No one I could ever feel for like that," I say. "I came across him in the hallway. He was odd. Emotionless. He seemed to me, the most ridiculous prideful man I'd ever meet."

Gail's features scrunch into a scowl. "All men deem themselves desirable if their fortune exceeds a modest annual wage," she replies, amused and annoyed simultaneously.

"Some hardly make anything at all. It's the fathers that worked hard. Fortunes are obtained, not earned," I chortle.

Cia rolls her eyes. "I don't care as long as he finds himself as amiable as Prince Rhett." She sighs dreamily, twirling playfully as her green skirt flares around her ankles.

My gut twists inside. I cannot tolerate the idea of the Princes. They appear vain and selfish and conceited. They appeal to those seeking rich, handsome men without a brain, and seem to do nothing to disprove the idea. Mayhaps, if they were to show they have the desire to prove themselves superior to what they are made to be, I wouldn't be so indifferent to the idea of them. Yet, I know little of the four, so I refrain from allowing prejudice to overtake me and plummet me into a closed mindset.

"I daresay you can't seriously humor the idea of marriage to someone you hardly know," I remark humorlessly.

"She can, and most certainly will," Gail retorts. "As long as she doesn't favor Prince Jared."

If Cia has any intention of replying, she is cut off, for the royal horn is blown, and the ballroom immediately falls into a hushed silence. King Edwin the Third, an impressive man with a wrinkled face and gray hair, comes to stand before his throne, lifting his bejeweled hands before beginning his address. The majestic Queen Isadora gracefully comes to his side, donning a splendid gown beneath her ruby red cloak. Her eyes study the girls before her without mercy, picking apart every hopeful soul in the room and crushing it with her gaze alone.

She opens her mouth to speak. "People of Thalasinia, Pheoria, Sypheria, and Goldwiled, you have gathered today in request of the Four Kingdoms!" Her tone is impetuous and proud. Her words eloquent and precise. Her every move designed for none other than the Queen. "Tonight, each of you eligible ladies, common and noble, will have the opportunity to gain the attention, and possibly, the affections of a Prince. For the past two years, none have succeeded. I wish you all luck."

Queen Isadora's words echo around the room, impossible to ignore. She pauses, lifting her hands to the sky. "And, without further ado, I welcome, Prince Teague from Thalasinia!"

Deafening cheers erupt around me. Cia and Gail clutch each of my arms, jumping up and down excitedly.

"Come on!" Cia shouts. I try to protest, but am still pulled through the shouting ladies to the front of the crowd. There, he walks down the aisle, haughty and proud. His eyes are a passionate grey storm flicking carefully through the crowd as if he is searching for someone. His fawn hair is swept across his forehead, giving him an effortless look he most likely worked hard to achieve. He is tall and handsome. Certain and mature. He seems dangerous, like he carries in his soul a hurricane of emotions too intense to be healthily contained.

He takes his place beside his mother, straightening his back and staring ahead in vigil. As the Queen calls Prince Rhett forward, an uneasy feeling begins to arise in me. It is as if chaos is hounding me, and currently breathing on my shoulders.

I slip out of Cia's grasp, who is too preoccupied to notice. I push to the table of food, taking a few strawberries and slowly devouring them. I study Prince Rhett as he walks across the room.

He too, is tall and handsome, but in a different way. He looks of the sunshine, with golden blonde hair and sparkling, friendly brown eyes. He seems relaxed and easygoing. His air has no conceited layer to it. Yet, he still walks as if he is above my stature.

Prince Rhett stands beside Prince Teague, clasping his arms behind his back, a small smile playing upon his lips, while Teague holds a look of impenetrable inner conflict.

I roll a strawberry over my tongue, savoring the sweet flavor as it soaks into my senses. I pause to reflect for a moment. I suppose Prince Teague is the most desired, for some odd reason. Do girls find his mysterious air attractive? I find it irritating and unconventional. He need not be mysterious when he is intended to rule Thalasinia someday. The trust his people are required to give when he is in such a position should not be forced when he has hidden his character from view.

Then, I debate, Prince Jared to be the second most favored. He is, I have heard, humourous, humble, and unfocused. Those are, primarily, amiable traits, but his disposition and participation in politics compromise my respect for him, as he disregards duty. This cannot be ignored.

Without question, I decide Prince Rhett to be third. He is handsome as the others, but seemingly serious as well as benevolent. He is the only Prince truly dedicated to his studies, and the one I like most. He has taken full advantage of what I would give my lungs to have: an education. He will, of the four Princes, make the most fair and just ruler.

And then, without question, is Prince Jayce. He is a beast no maiden can come to love. He is not desired, not celebrated, and never admired. Once, a faint memory, I can recall he was kind. Yet, somewhere along the twisted road he has traveled, something altered his moral constitution. He became emotionless, and if he ever did feel, he was spiteful or angered. He is a murderous monster, responsible for the Wilderose Massacre. He ended the lives of hundreds, simply because he could. I despise him most of all, because a monster so twisted does not deserve the opportunity to suck a hopeful and adoring soul dry.

My reflections are cut short, as Prince Jared enters the ballroom. Plastered upon his face is a goofy, lopsided grin, that speaks of a good natured jokester, rather than the Prince of Pheoria. His forest green eyes sparkle with amusement and joy, framed by dark brown hair. His step is the most modest of them all. His body language tells of no superiority. To him, he thinks himself an ordinary commoner. This, I admire. In a way, opposed to what I came here believing, I now favor Prince Jared. It is he I prefer much more to the others. With a jaunty step, he takes his place beside Prince Rhett, the joyful smile on his face never departing.

And so, we come to the dreaded moment. Queen Isadora raises her chin and speaks loudly, "Prince Jayce of Sypheria!"

As the doors open, the cheering falls into a deadly silence. Not a whisper, a laugh, nor the rustling of a skirt is to be heard. Only the quiet and even clicking of his shoes against the marble floor. His footsteps echo, and as I finally evaluate my way around the people blocking my view, my heart stops beating in my chest. My blood runs cold, ice on fire in my veins. The strawberry I have been chewing on is spared as my jaw falls slack, the rest of the fruit rolling out of my hand and upon the floor. I try to remember how to breathe, but it seems impossible with the terror pounding in my veins.

His cold, blue eyes lock onto mine. All his handsome features are emotionless. I stare back at him with shock. This isn't happening, I think. It is. As he takes his place, his eyes never leave mine, and Prince Jared, following his gaze, notices me too. His grin widens, and my gut twists. I finally manage to swallow my strawberry.

Terror. Shock. Numbness. It all floods my nervous system as I come to accept the fact that this was the man from the hallway. Jayce Callaghan, ruthless Prince of Sypheria, whom I had saved from a venomous spider, stupidly. I hate myself. The feeling intensifies as Prince Jared lifts three fingers to his lips, and deliberately blows me a kiss. That sinking feeling sets my mind on fire as each girl swoons, thinking he had intended it for her. I know. As both of their gazes bore into me, I do the only thing I can think of.

I grab the collar of the boy next to me, and smash my lips to his, completely aware of how intensely I am violating propriety.

Every great love story has an unconventional beginning.

Mine is a kiss.