Unknowingly falling asleep, Bryony woke when the carriage jerked to a halt. Groaning, she stretched her arms above her head as the door opened.

“My ladies.” The footman held out a hand. “We’ve arrived.”

Sighing, Bluebell closed her book before taking the offered hand to step out. “I’d hoped to finish my book before we arrived.”

Taking the hand when offered again, Bryony looked around. The courtyard was bustling with activity while Ionna Castle loomed behind, the trees towering above. Maids, stable hands, and guards moved carefully but swiftly through the throngs of officials slowly walking about, trading news while their partners stood to the side to share gossip. Hunting dogs bounded through, eager for attention or a morsel.

After being confined almost all day, Bryony couldn’t help herself. She touched the ground and was running, grinning with delight. She ignored the stares, some laughter, and was practically vibrating with too much energy from being confined for so long.

“Bryony Ashlynn Rae.” Her mother didn’t shout her full name, yet Bryony flinched before halting, coating her slippers with pale dirt. “Come here.”

Turning back, Bryony saw her mother stepping out of her carriage with help from her husband, all while Sage slept soundly in her arms. Her mother’s gaze narrowed when she hesitated, so she carefully walked back, shoulders up to her ears and gaze lowered. “Yes, Mother?”

Her mother sighed. “Head up, Bryony. I shouldn’t have to remind you that you’re-”

“A princess, and should act as such,” finished Bryony. “I’m sorry, Mother.” And she was, if only for forgetting her mother’s sharp gaze.

Momentarily raising an eyebrow in disbelief, her mother cleared her throat. “That goes for all of you.” She glanced at all her daughters, some trying not to giggle at Bryony’s reprimand. “As representatives of our realm, you’re old enough to behave yourselves without me telling you to.” She looked at Bryony again. “Understood?”

“Yes, Mother,” everyone answered. Shame at being singled out burned Bryony’s cheeks.

“Don’t be hard on her, Tabetha.” Her father placed a hand on Bryony’s shoulder and she looked up at him, the sunlight catching his golden hair. “She’s just eager to stretch her legs.”

“I realize,” replied Tabetha coolly. “Regardless, people won’t ignore her childishness any longer.” Done with the subject, she sharply ordered, “Girls, line up.”

“Don’t worry, there’ll be time for play later,” promised Aharon with a gentle smile. Bryony wished he’d lift her up into a hug, but he merely patted her shoulder and pushed her forward, oblivious to her disappointment as the girls gathered from oldest to youngest.

At the head as the eldest and royal heir, Azalea stood with her chin up and shoulders back. She always tried to act older than thirteen, even as next to her, Camellia was whispering to Hyacintha, the corners of her mouth twitching with laughter while Hyacintha merely shook her head, though Bluebell couldn’t tell if it was because she was unamused or not, her face unchanging. The three were born with less than a year between each of them, and they did things together so often most people treated them like triplets.

Rolling her eyes at Camellia’s whispering, Bluebell looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. Despite being close in age to Hyacintha, she hadn’t bonded with her or the others and instead kept to herself, usually reading.

Next to her, the nine-year-old twins were also whispering, glancing at a passing maid with delight. Juniper and Lavender were unruly in a different way than Bryony by planning pranks or tricks that went unnoticed until it was too late. Some maids called them little demons.

Yet it was Bryony, with her tangled hair and dirty clothes that gained attention; people with sympathetic smiles but laughter in their eyes. Face warm again, Bryony ducked her head, her brown curls brushing her cheeks, and she hated them. All her siblings resembled their parents – the three oldest with Aharon’s blond hair and their mother’s blue eyes, the twins with Tabetha’s red hair and their father’s gray eyes. Even Bluebell and Sage were copies of their father, though Bluebell’s hair was a paler shade.

But not Bryony. Not with hair like fresh mud or green eyes once described as broken sea glass. Pretty, but too bright, too sharp. Her sisters, mainly Camellia and the twins, loved to say Bryony was a changeling, a fairy put in place of their real sister. Tabetha thought she ended that after finding Bryony sobbing and gave the others a stern talking to, but like her drawing pad; Bryony knew there was no point complaining when nothing would stop.

And it wouldn’t banish the feeling of not belonging.