Betrothals

Annabelle

Annabelle lazily wound a strand of her hair around her finger as she sat beside Michael. He huffed out a breath, sinking deeper into the love seat. Annabelle suppressed a frown. He hadn't heard a word she just said, had he.

"So then he died."

"Who died?" Michael's eyes flew open.

Of course, "Nobody died. I was checking to see if you were paying attention… and you most definitely were not."

Michael sighed, sitting up straighter. He turned to face her, grabbing her hands in his. "Look baby, I know I… I haven't been attentive. I could repeat excuse after excuse but I know that would do little to help. It might actually make things worse," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "How long are you willing to put up with my lack of attention? When I enter the court this year and when I take the throne three years from then? Is this the life you want?"

Annabelle tried not to snap at him, "I was bred for this life. Trained since I could open my eyes to be this way. I know every law by memory, I have been taught the proper way to sit and eat and dress and practically breathe since I was young."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"It should." She said back, not objecting when he dropped her hands. "You and I have been told how and what to do every single day. The two of us are probably going to be betrothed when you enter the court whether we want it to happen or not."

"Annabelle do you actually… actually want this?" Michael asked, his eyes becoming wider.

No. Yes. She didn't know. It hurt every time she asked him to hang out with her, but he was always busy writing some new documents, sitting in on a meeting, visiting some new park opening, and then he still had school and sports. She was at the end of a very long list. One that would get longer when he finally became king. It had always been her dream to be the queen. She was told it was practically her birthright. She worked her tail off in her private tutoring lessons until her parents sent her to boarding school with the other royals. But now… "Michael, I love you, I really do. But I miss you. Whenever you aren't busy at court or something, you have school and you need sleep. I don't get to see you anymore."

No, no, no. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes. This wasn't that big of a deal. It was only everything she lived for heading straight down a drain. "Baby please don't cry. Annie, look at me."

Don't call me Annie," she said as a tear fell. She was so stupid. "Michael, we fit. Isn't that enough? Isn't that what matters? We don't have time for what I want, for what you want. We don't have time for our best interests. The nation's best interests are what we need to take care of first." she wiped one of those stupid tears from her face with her wrist, standing from the chair, "I know we tried to make it work. We have always been good friends. But aside from that… We make a good couple that the kingdom can look up to. We both know everything about this place inside and out." She paused, another tear dripping down her cheek. "Maybe we don't love each other, but aren't we fortunate to be fond of each other? To be friends?" She knew it. And from the hurt flashing in his eyes, he obviously knew it too. "My grandmother was engaged to my grandfather when she was very young. Not only were they not in love, but they were not even friends. She hates him to this day. But seeing them stand together, a seemingly united front, made a huge difference in their country. Michael, we are so lucky to be friends." He opened his mouth to say something, his pathetic gaze hitting her hard, "Look, when this comes to be… we just have to do it."

"I know, I'm sorry." Michael shook his head slowly, staring at the carpet, "I only wish I could be like you, set aside what I want and do what is needed. From now on, if you need a friend, I will make my best efforts to be one to you. I will try harder, okay Annie?"

Guilt seared her conscience. She nodded. "We should probably um… say goodbye then." She didn't meet his eyes.

He finally left when she leaned against the door, sliding to the floor. She was so stupid. So completely dumb. Why hadn't she taken the opportunity to find love for herself? Why did she have to suddenly preach right and wrong? Why couldn't he have finally ended it? Allowed her to do something she wanted for once. But of course… that wasn't who she was made to be.

She sniffled once, biting her lip to stop the tears from falling. Her suite was dark, quiet, empty. She pulled out her phone. She wanted to put it back down immediately. Another squabble amongst some of her friends again. Apparently Lucy had said something about Annabelle being a pampered brat without any real challenges to face except which shoes to wear. Super original. But now it turned out that Lisette had agreed with her. She squeezed her eyes shut. She'd missed a party that everyone was at because she had a meeting and then this stupid talk with Michael. She missed everything for this stupid life she had no choice but to live.

She inhaled a deep breath, centering herself. Put the phone down… you'll do more harm than good. She reluctantly plugged her phone into the wall before changing into leggings and wandering into a spare room of her suite. She turned on the old radio on the shelf, tying up her hair and wrapping her hands before aggressively attacking the punching bag swinging from her ceiling.

She swung her leg up high, striking it with her heel, twisting with a punch. Again and again. The only reason she was allowed to do this was because it was an easier secret to keep than her attending therapy.

Annabelle hooked a fist into it so hard she swore her fingers popped. She loved her mom, she did. But the woman had become too good at putting the nation's needs before hers, or her family's. Her mother's concern was always, "If the press gets wind of this, it will only be worse."

A flurry of fists sent the bag careening away from her. She used a well aimed knee to drive it away again.

Annabelle remembered one of many conversations she'd had since she was fifteen. "Mom, I can't! I can't, it—it isn't that simple." a tear fell down her face. "No matter what I do, it just doesn't work. My fears are irrational, I know that. Everyone tells me I don't need to be scared anymore. But when I go to take that step… my body locks up. I lose control. I end up here. Away from it all. Mom…" Her face crumpled as her mother scowled, spinning on a heel.

"Annabelle, we can't keep pushing off your betrothal announcement to the prince. And PR can only think of so many excuses for a press conference because you keep failing to get up on stage for the real reason because of your stupid selfish ambitions. I don't care if you don't like him…" Her mother's words drowned into a fog as the berating continued.

Annabelle didn't love Michael, but she wasn't lying when she called him a friend. He'd never questioned why the betrothal hadn't yet been public or why the press conferences always changed topics rapidly when they prepared to announce it.

I'm not selfish. She whipped around the bag, punching and kicking, her movements jerking and uncontrolled. Not like her normal fluidity. I'm not self-serving. She inhaled a deep breath, pacing herself. It isn't something I can fix. She looked up just as the bag connected with her face, knocking her to the ground.

Tomorrow. She could worry about everything tomorrow. Sleep would help, maybe a hot tea. Bury everything deep inside of her. When the conference came, she'd be ready. She wouldn't hyperventilate, she wouldn't freeze, she would not get sick, she would not fall… She wouldn't have to hear her parent's disapproval of her failure to be able to stand on a stage for fifteen minutes over a silly engagement.

Annabelle lay on the floor, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling. She placed a hand on her stomach, tears falling before she could help them.