White knuckles gripped the leather cover, grey eyes fed on every word offered up by the page before me as I devoured the story the tome offered. I reached up to turn to the next page when I heard a familiar "Prince Haven!" and my heart began to sink. I resisted the implicit command to put my book down and focus, instead opting to stare at the page I had just finished with uncomprehending eyes, hoping beyond reason that whoever was looking for me would see me reading and opt to leave me to my fragile peace.

That tone of voice never meant anything good, no matter how often I heard it. Most times, it meant that my peace-filled reading time had ended, to be replaced with whatever filial duties my stepmother had decided that I must attend to. No matter how hard I tried, my hiding places were always uncovered far too quickly for my comfort. Even when I made them so obscure that it takes almost an hour to get into position, I was always tracked down and forced into whatever role Her Majesty needed me to fill that day.

Once every fourth blue moon or so, the messenger was from my dearest father, but as I hadn't done anything worth him noticing my existence within the past fortnight or so, I doubted he would bother.

Part of me is convinced that my stepmother put a tail on me, digging out time to uncover my whereabouts in her busy schedules like a morbid game of cat and mouse. How else would her minions know to find me in the attic of the abandoned church that could only be accessed with a tunnel under the old wing of the kitchens within less than an hour of searching for me? It had taken me weeks to find it in the first place.

The only reasonable conclusion that I could come to was that she had mystical means of locating me, which is entirely possible knowing her abilities. I had come to the eventual conclusion that at this point, it was easier on all of us if I just stayed in the library rather than trying to find another complex hideout to squish myself into.

The loud sound of a throat clearing trumpeted next to my ears, and with a sigh, I briefly glanced up and then deliberately back down to the cleanly typed text of the thick book I had been perusing for the past who knows how long. Time went straight out the window when I became absorbed in a good story, not to mention that it was difficult to keep track of when I spent most of my energy avoiding facing the rest of the world.

Glancing up at the familiar face of my stepmother's favorite steward, I desperately searched my brain for whatever his name was. Joseph, maybe? It was hard to be sure when I purposefully tried to bury all of our encounters into the dustiest corners of my mind, the one packed with cobwebs and mothballs that captured as many unpleasant thoughts as possible.

Probably Joseph returned my sigh as he gently removed my book from my loose grasp. Anyone who had to deal with me daily knew that I would refuse to pay attention to whatever they were saying if I had a reasonable excuse to ignore their existence, so it had long become a universal practice to take away any distractions I could claim. I had yet to figure out where they had put the assortment of pipe cleaners I had twisted together last week to keep my hands busy and let my mind wander. I had others, but it was the principle of the thing.

I gave him my best baleful look as he marched around the corner of an ornate bookshelf, which he rudely ignored. If I were lucky, he would just put my book on the table instead of re-shelving it entirely. It would be a pain to find again, especially if he didn't know the organization system. I had lost too many books that way, only to find them weeks later in the religion section- either the servant's attempt at humor or an example of personal incompetence. It was a high fantasy novel, making it hard to tell for sure.

The repetitive clicking of his polished black shoes on the equally perfect floors indicated his dreaded return. I glanced up at his perfectly composed face and couldn't help but return his sigh. If this was any indication of my evening, it would be a long night indeed.

"How may I help you?" I said it in what hopefully qualified as a vaguely courteous tone. I carried the fleeting hope that if I at least made a cursory attempt towards politeness, he wouldn't complain to Her Majesty and she wouldn't get on my case for it. It was a win for all sides involved, and by the end of the night, she would probably have enough to be mad at me for as it was. One way or another, I always managed to do at least one thing that ruffled her undercoats. It was almost a game, but I wasn't usually a voluntary participant.

My eyes wandered from the steward to the wood carvings that made up the library's shelves. I'm not quite sure why intricate carvings of plants and things that could be animals (if you squinted and looked hard) were required on every shelf in this place, but in my experience, only the best would do when dealing with nobility; even if the decorations were completely useless for anything practical, everything must always be beyond reproach. I should probably just be relieved that they didn't gild everything just for good measure. It would be distracting enough that it might require real effort for me to read in here, a thought that sent phantom shudders through my very core.

Probably Joseph clicked his heels with obnoxious levels of noise, startling me out from my wandering thoughts for long enough for my eyes to meet his. He rattled off his message in the brief interlude in which he had my attention, correctly assuming that he wouldn't have all of it for long.

"I bear a message from Her Majesty, Queen Olivia Jacqueria St. Delainia of the Central Plains..."