Forced To Love

It was my sixteenth birthday when I recieved the news. "My darling, may we talk for a moment?" Mother gently asked me. "Yes, mother." I nodded, and we stepped out into the large hall leading to the kitchen of our big mansion. "I have great news, Emma Rose!" She told me, smiling in a happy, yet still ladylike gesture. "What is it?" I pondered her, puzzled and tilting my head to the right, my heavy, dark red curly hair was fancily put up in a bun, but I could feel a shift in its weight to the right. "I have arranged you a husband. He is the Prince of Portua, a land just miles from here. You will be wed to him on your seventeenth birthday. He is tall, and handsome, and very kind. He is quiet, though, I'm afraid." She still smiled at me.

Mother was the Queen of Ingrim, a kingdom located near the center of Scotland. "Oh. That is good news!" I smiled back. I was excited. I always wanted to be married, having a dream wedding, and wearing my mothers beautiful dress, marrying a handsome, rich prince who could come at my every beck and call with no limits to his love and care for me. I was ready to meet him. The one I'd marry. My one and only, (hopefully) Prince Charming. Every girl wants that, but only certain girls really get it. I'm lucky to be born into this family. My mother bared two other children before me, but they were both still born, dying in the womb. My father died before I was born, killed when he went to war with his army, to take over another land.

"Mother, when will I be meeting him?" I asked. "He is here at the party. In the ballroom. You are to go and dance with him." She told me, softly giving me a gentle hug. "Yes, madam." I smiled, hugging her back, feeling all bubbly inside. "Now go." she gave me a gentle nudge in his direction, where he stood there, staring at me from across the room. His golden outift, adorned with a white underblouse, shimmered in the light of the many candles that surrounded us in the ball room. I felt my face suddenly get warm, and my face went into a shy smile. I looked once more at him, as he walked towards me, hand outdrawn towards me, as a gesture of asking me to dance. The music played, and we danced in a circle, talking about ourselves and each other.

"You mother said you were beautiful, but that is an understatement for such a graceful young lady such as yourself." He said sweetly. His breath smelled of a sweet scent, as if his entire dinner was wine and deserts. I blushed, then smiled at him. "Well my mother said that you were handsome, and I'd have to say that is an understatement for you as well." I said. He was, indeed, handsome, but more of a gentleman way. Every girl wanted to be with him, the, indeed, very handsome young Prince. Yet, although I could see myself being with him, part of me rejected. My heart did not long for him. Yes, it was indeed effected by his good looks and amazing charm, but something about him did not attract me as much as I thought it should have. But this would have to do, because mother would not let me be with any other man other than one she chooses.

I have always remembered an old childhood friend I used to have, named Benjamin. We were young, I at the age of ten, him at eleven. Whenever mother was in her room, library, or off on business, I'd always sneak out of the mansion, and sit by the small pond with him. He was taller than I was, a tall boy for his age, and I was about average. He was the only boy I'd ever been with other than this Prince of Portua (his name is Alexander). But Ben, as I called him, was a peasant, and I was royalty. We were not supposed to be seen together, although our friendship never died. But it has been years since I have seen Ben, mainly because he moved to Italy when he turned twelve. But when he informed me he was moving away, I did not want him to leave. I had given him a huge hug, squeezing him tight, telling him, "If you go, I'll go with you! We can stay together!" But he told me how his father did not appriciate the royalty, because they had somehow been wronged by my father. But in the years since, I lay in bed, remembering his face, his name, his smell... and I'd wonder where he is now. If he ever came back, or if he stayed in Italy, and forgot about me. He probably has forgotten about me. But when he left, it was like a part of me, a piece of my heart, had gone with him.