The palace had rules.
Mountains of them. Rivers of them. Entire oceans, apparently because they followed me everywhere.
Rules for how I walked, eat...even breathing had one.
Sometimes I wondered if I needed a degree in palace etiquette for survival.
And I tried. I really did.
I curtsied when instructed, smiled when commanded, and swallowed a thousand "Yes, Your Highness"s.
But some rules…some rules were clearly meant to be broken.
Rule #1: The Crown Princess must rise at dawn.
I did not.
I woke at midmorning, sunlight blazing through the curtains, sprawled diagonally across the bed like I'd won a battle in my sleep.
"My lady, you woke late." Jacquie said softly, already filling the tub with warm water
I rolled over, hair tousled. "That sounds like the sun's fault, not mine."
Rule #3: Meals are taken in silence unless addressed.
Who exactly decided that chewing quietly was a sign of dignity?
Because if it is, I officially lost mine.
The dining room was just too quiet for an American parrot like me...made worse by the Queen wearing black
So I did what my brain suggested.
I leaned forward and whispered,
"Is it always this quiet or did someone die?"
The Queen nearly choked on her tea.
Across the table, Tristen's spoon paused for exactly one second.
I forced a smile.
Just great.
Rule #7: The Crown Princess must not wander unescorted.
That was exactly what I did.
I wandered. Barefoot. Down the west corridor.
Into a gallery I absolutely wasn't meant to find... perfectly hidden, allegedly undiscoverable.
Which begged the question: Define hidden in medieval history.
The gallery was old and smelled like an abandoned basement. Cobwebs clung stubbornly onto my dress, but I didn't mind.
By the time the guards arrived, I had broken two canvases.
"My Lady, you shouldn't be here. This is the ancestral gallery." One of them said, visibly terrified.
"Oh," I said, brushing dirt off my sleeve. "That explains why there are twelve paintings of men who all look equally disappointed."
Rule #4: Proper attire is mandatory at all times.
This time, I couldn't endure it any longer.
I loosened my sleeves, undid the suffocating neckline and kicked off my shoes halfway down the hall.
Because they hurt.
When I walked past the servants corridor, they stared at me like I've committed treason.
I blinked, glancing down at myself. "What? I'm still wearing most of it."
Rule #37: Thou shalt walk precisely three steps before stopping.
I walked four, spun and almost pirouetted into the chandelier.
Rule #51: Thou shalt kneel for precisely seven seconds.
I did kneel for seven, but then flopped forward like I was swooning in some tragic romance.
The room froze. A noble lady gasped and I almost laughed.
Tristen, as always, gave me the coldest stare known to man.
I could swear he actually had icicles growing from his eyebrows.
And yet…he stayed. Watching. Observing. Judging.
Quietly irritated? Probably, but secretly…maybe entertained?
Nah. That would be a lie. Definitely a lie.
Then I spilled soup three times, tripped over my own skirts twice, "accidentally" used the throne as a pillow.
I still had to answer to that one.
By dusk, I flopped onto a cushioned bench in the garden, exhausted but victorious.
"Good job Ioana," I murmured. "You're still alive."
"You are testing the patience of an entire kingdom." A familiar voice floated behind me.
I smiled.
"Good," I said without turning. "I was worried I wasn't trying hard enough."
Silence.
"So was I."