Arranged, Not Chosen

Growing up royal is not as fun as it looks. Falling in love is ten times harder, especially when you are arranged to marry someone you can't stand.

It's not as easy as it looks. Most things aren't. Being the daughter of the kind and queen comes with it's perks, don't get me wrong. But like everything, there is always a down side. Most people dream about who they are going to marry, what they would wear, when they would meet their prince charming. Royalty don't always get that option. I have known who I was going to marry since I was 7. Most people get a scooter or stuffed animals as a birthday present when they were 7. I got an arranged marriage. It's not like we got married or anything, we aren't that crazy, they just basically said to me:

"Bree, we love you so much and we just want you to be happy. Here is the boy you will marry, his name is Anthony. Have fun!"

As I got older, they explained that since I was promised to Anthony, even though we couldn't date or anything, I couldn't date anyone else. No kissing, no holding hands, no hugging.  There goes my teen years. Thanks mom and dad.


"Bree, Madame Regi is here to see you," My maid, Martha squeaked out as she brought in the dress I would where to the ball tonight, (above).

"Thank you, Martha," I replied turning to look out the window. I remembered to dismiss her when I heard her clear her throat as she stood in the middle of my room. I had told her multiple times that I did not need to dismiss her but she insisted. 

Madame Regi bustled her way into my once serene room and began barking orders as soon as her manicured foot hit the floor.

"Princess, why are you not dressed yet? Today is a big day! Today you and the Duke will announce your engagement!" She said excitedly. I could tell she was beaming as she hustled over to my closet to lay out the dress she had picked.

"Come on dear, we still have to do your hair!"

I trudged over to the bed where I quickly undressed, throwing my silk pajamas into a heap on the floor as Madame Regi cringed. I sucked in my breath as she zipped the back of my dress, praying that my gallon of ice cream from last night didn't carry over. Luckily she didn't notice.

I readjusted the bodice before grabbing my favorite pair of shoes and following Madame Regi out of the door and into the main corridor where my stylists were waiting.

"Miss. Bree, that dress does wonders for your complexion!" My stylist Malcom beamed as he spun the makeup chair towards me. After about a half hour of brushing, plucking and curling, I was off to the ball.


You would think that after attending so many of these that the novelty would wear off. The butterflies would subdue. The awe would be replaced by a feeling of normality. It didn't. My breath still caught in my throat as I stood at the top of the grand staircase leading to the ballroom. The butterflies continued to swarm as a hush fell over the crowd as I descended the stairs, my fingers crossed behind my back in hopes that I wouldn't fall. As for awe, it was like every girl's dream. Crystal chandeliers hung in the center of the room. Columns rose up from the ground as if they held up the entire world. The silverware had a gleam to it that could only come of hours of polishing. And the people. The people looked as if they had come out of shampoo commercials, some straight from heaven. The men's hair framed their face perfectly, their suits hugging their bodies as if they were made for them, (which in most cases they were). The women glided across the dance floor their perfect smiles as contagious as could be. It was truly amazing. 

I made my way down the final steps and over to where my parents stood. They continued to talk to the other guest as I arrived, as if I wasn't even there. I was used to it though. After 17 years of it, it doesn't sting as much.

"May I just say, you might be the prettiest girl in the room," Anthony's calm voice appeared in my ear, making me jump slightly. I turned around at the sound of his laughter and scowled.

"No you may not," I snapped back only gaining more chuckles from Anthony.

"Then that only leaves me to think it my dear fiancé," He laughed snaking his arm around my waist until I broke away.

"Don't call me that," I warned turning to face him. More look up at him. His 6'4 frame towered over my petite 5'6.

"Ok, I can think of something better," He whispered under his breath before walking away gracefully as if nothing ever happened.

He disgusted me. He was about as arrogant and perverted as you could get. He was also my fiancé. What fun this will be.