Cara Lugo [Complete]

Chapter Six: Her Royal Highness

Cara had gotten in the Princess's favour simply by spinning tales of fantastical adventures which she ate up like a starved man. Simple ones too, just of the everyday life of a working citizen. Something no one else in the vicinity though interesting or even anywhere near amusing. Cara wondered if the Princess thought those true tellings were also just made-up, but in truth, the Princess was just a starved creature. She ate day in day out and enriched her mind with countless customs and folklore from other cultures. She had it all and hungered after human touch and unconditional love all the same. No, she would not trade her wealth for love, but there was no harm in wishing for more now, was there?

"Princess?" Cara asks lightly, one hand poised to knock on the doorframe of the open room.

The lady in question beckoned her in eagerly. "Come, come to my side, Christy."

Cara did as she was told without hesitation. "Milady?"

"Tell me a story." The Princess claps her hands together like an excited child, and even wriggles in her seat. "Your stories are always so darling, Christy."

The pseudonym irked her, but Cara took her seat on auto-pilot. An automatic action from weeks of this torture. Not even the slack-jawed, slightly green expression of Lara was at all satisfying to Cara's anymore. Still, she smiles pleasantly.

"What would you like to hear today, Princess? Something exciting? Or would you rather have something more romantic? Maybe you'd rather ..."

The Princess cuts her off. "Something about you."

Cara was stumped for a minute. "About ... me?" She laughs nervously. "Oh, I would if I could, but I fear there's nothing even remotely story-worthy about me."

"Don't lie to me, I know who you are." She crosses her arms over her chest and makes an indignant noise. "You have everyone else fooled, but I got a few things figured out while staring at white walls."

"Oh?" Cara says, hesitant to say more. "What do you mean?"

"You know very well what I mean." The Princess smiles a little bit if you could call it that. "Your name and the rumours that accompanied it made my teenage years bearable."

Cara stares, silent and waiting. Seeing what more she had to say.

"Cara Lugo, is that how you say it?" The Princess glances over at her, sideways. "Your name even reached the palace ears. Isn't that something?"

"I'm not sure ..." Cara looks away, choosing to stare at some garish display of wealth instead.

"You are. Can't believe it took me that long to figure out." The Princess reaches over and fiddles with a long, black strand that fell out of the messy braid. "Must've been the long hair. All personal recounts I've ever heard said you looked like a malnourished little boy."

Cara didn't know whether to laugh or be insulted, but one thing was for sure, the Princess was a lot smarter than she was ever letting on. A childish façade that made others glace past her, not taking much notice. Quite like Cara's own, except this one was carefully crafted.

"But now you're here, right by my side, and that can't be good." The Princess now looks her, unblinking, the childish demeanour now completely eradicated. "So, I propose a deal. I'll get you whatever you need."

Cara waits for the rest of it, but the Princess is silent, expectant. "A deal? That's not much of a deal. You get nothing out of it, so there's nothing holding you to what you said you'd do."

"Oh?" The Princess feigned shock. "Me wishing to help my childhood idol is not enough?"

"I doubt I was much of an idol to anyone. An exciting story, perhaps, but nothing more." Cara says, without much humour. "And no, it isn't. I'm not taking my chances."

She hummed. "Well alright, I suppose I have to make this explicit." She leaned in close and spoke in a low tone. "In return, I get to go off, scot-free, and make my escape. I get to keep all that I own personally, and no one will ever come after me." Cara looks at her, dumbfounded, and she continues, not taking notice. "I won't cause any trouble if that's what you're wondering. I hate this wretched place and living out in the country with huge savings of wealth, or perhaps married to some well-ranking suitor would always be preferable." The door creaked on its hinges, and just like that, a switch flipped somewhere inside her and she giggled, clapping her hands. "Wouldn't that just be darling, Christy?"

Cara kept a straight face, but inside she was reeling. She also cursed herself for not being more aware, and that a prissy, spoiled girl had caught on to a potential eavesdropper far quicker than she had. Of course, it was only the prim faced butler announcing the Princess's next assignment on her daily to-do list.

"Of course it is." Cara patted her on the arm. "And I'd be happy to see what I could do to accommodate that. I'm sure I can make that happen."

The Princess clutched at her frilly apron and pulled her back in closer. "Oh, would you just? That would be so kind of you. You're the best." And with a pat on the cheek, she was off.

Apron. Apron. A silly, useless little thing, worn over the most impractical black dress. Cara never wore dresses. Only on her own terms, when she felt like it. Not even her mother could coerce her into donning one, and here she was, parading around in a ridiculous costume for the guy she had barely ever met. Robby had to leave the room the first time she tried it on at home, laughing so hard you could hear it from the other side of the house.

But now? Now at least she could get out of it sooner. Pass along a note to 'a family member' so that Robby could relay it to James. Get the cogs in motion faster. The only catch was getting them to agree to let the Princess free. Cara saw no harm in it, but ever-controlling James would very much hate a plan like that. Or maybe he wouldn't; after all, he changed his mind from minute to minute.

No matter, Cara finally had something to do. Something to puzzle over. The Princess was intriguing.

* * *

Writing:

Where does a story really begin?

Where in the story is really the start of the novel? Does someone's story start at a big, pivotal moment in their lives? Is it when they were an adult or still a child? Does it start at the moment of their birth or perhaps beforehand? Have you ever looked at a novel and wondered what had happened before? Those little quirks and happenings that have made them into the character they are.

Maybe someone isn't defined be momentous events or a pivotal moment. Maybe someone is defined by the way they watched other people, what they saw when they looked outside, how they were taught to stand and what to carry with them at all times. Maybe they are defined by what their favourite colour is, how they see beauty in the world, and even what others perceive them as.

The idea of someone's story beginning is a common one. Sayings like "the shitty chapter", "turn a new page", and "write your own story" are tossed around as consolation and inspiration. But how many chapters are there to our lives? How many pages to turn over? Are they finite or infinite? Who is there to know, and where does your story go after your done.

After all, the only stories that are remembered are those which are momentous and loved. Those books which cater to the mindset of the wider audience and makes people love them. Those hard stories with difficult, slow lives are not less important, but still not remembered. Those tossed aside because no one picked it up, and those who did, or who held it in their hands, took one look and decided it wasn't fantastical enough. Those who don't sparkle or draw in the empaths are forgotten through no fault of their own.

Stories must begin somewhere, and why does the author choose to begin it then?

Answer that, then proceed.