Chatterbox: Inkwell

YEAR OLD STORY!!!!

So, yeah!  I started writing this story a year ago, with full intent of finishing it. (I actually have a little notebook that I mapped the whole plot out in)  But, school came around, and then I got distracted.  I'm going to try and finish it (or at least continue it) this summer though, so I though I'd share with you guys!  Anyway, without further ado, here is A Thing In Fancy Script!

(See, I'm great at temporary titles)

Chapter 1

Cyan 

I loved the market, the hustle and bustle, and the way that all the important announcements from the castle were boomed to the masses from the tower in the center of the fountain.  The one thing I couldn’t ever bring myself to appreciate was the immense crowd’s tendency to push me back and impede my vision. I knew very well that I was shorter than average, though it rarely mattered with the heeled boots and shoes I often chose to wear.  Today however, in order to be a little more inconspicuous, I had opted for a plain flat shoe, and a turquoise dress with a deep brown apron.
Many people would suppose that my efforts would be to conceal my activities from my parents, so focused on raising a good and proper young lady that they would ignore my own feelings, like in the tales.  In reality, my main objective was to stay out of the center of attention for as long as possible. I had always frequented the market, but recently I had grown to draw more attention that a typical lord’s daughter would.  People were not unkind, or even rude, but I simply preferred to allow them to go about their day. As for my parents, I had not exactly told them of my plans for the day, but I knew that they would be arriving soon enough.  My mother would scold me for leaving my thick brown hair down but for a partial braid in the back, but it would be kindly said.
By the time I made my way through the crowd, I was beginning to sweat.  I had forgotten how this dress trapped heat, and though it was cool, the sun beat down upon the market.  Many other girls were clustered about the front of the mass of people, and I slipped into their group without attracting attention.  Within moments, the creak of a carriage began a wave of cheers.
Finally, I made it to a position on a low stone wall which allowed me to see the large platform which had been erected around the circular fountain and announcer’s tower.  The king emerged from the carriage, which was a deep blue with golden trim, and waved to the crowd, smiling broadly. One of the girls standing on the ground below be scowled up at me, muttering about how unfair it was that I could be more visible.  The others around agreed, I could tell, but it was just silliness. The Queen’s Lot was totally fair, with each girl being given an equal chance. Well, all but one. And that girl did happen to be me.

I turned to speak to the girl, but my eye was caught by the king, who was looking directly at me.  Once he noticed my attention on him, he waved, grin widening to nearly split his face in two. Ok, maybe I did have a better chance than other girls. But I certainly hadn’t cheated to get there.
A sudden flutter on my finger drew my attention down to my hand, where a ring fit snugly around my middle finger.  Though it changed metals every day, the same veins and ridges formed the curved leaf every morning when I put it on, looking as if it had fallen fresh off a maple tree.  Today it was bronze, to match my outfit I suspected, but even that magic was not the most special thing about it. My ring was bound to another, identical down to the smallest detail, which was worn by my best friend, Alessio.  My ring pulsed in time with his heart, and his did the same with mine, though we rarely noticed in anymore. Our heartbeats has become almost identical in the five years that we had worn the rings, except when one of us was exceptionally hurt, or, in this case, nervous.
Not that Ales had no reason to be nervous.  It was his life being decided about after all.
His heartbeat continued to race against my finger as the king quieted the crowd and the queen joined him onstage.  The announcer clambered hurriedly from his place at the top of the stone tower rising above it all, and conferred with the royals before clearing his throat and calling out in the deep loud voice he was so famous for: “Announcing, the royal majesties King Ronan and Queen Elowen!”
The cheers were so loud I thought that they might have echoed all the way the the Braed Forest.  King Ronan laughed, and Queen Elowen smiled beside him, eyes full of joy.
“And,” the announcer continued.  “Our one and only Prince Alessio!”
Ales stepped out of the carriage, and all the cheers fell silent.  His heart pounding into my finger, he looked straight ahead as he made his way to the stage.  I suddenly realized the true reason that our rings were bronze. Ales’s hair was the exact color of the metal, gleaming on the sun while he made his way to his parents.  He too was wearing blue, a shade just deeper than the carriage making up the entirety of his high necked coat, and a swath of fabric which matched his hair and eyes created his loose trousers underneath.  His eyes were searching, looking over the crowd, searching for me, I knew. The moment his eyes locked on me the pounding of my ring faded, and he gave a slight nod before turning to his parents.

In the second these things had taken, the crowd had remained silent, but now they roared even louder than before.  The announcer struggled to quiet them again, and pulled a long roll of paper out of his coat pocket.
“Will all young ladies come up to the stage and form a like when I call their names,” he requested, wrestling the scroll open.  He began, and slowly every single 14 year old girl in the kingdom was called up to the stage. Soon, Alessio and his parents were surrounded by a growing throng of girls.  The king and queen grew more and more energetic as girl continued to stream toward them, looking resplendent and powerful in their finery and golden crowns. Ales himself, however, was becoming paler with each girl his parents greeted, his crown seeming to weigh him down, and I began to worry that he would faint before the Queen’s Lot finished.
Finally, there was a lull in the name calling, and the crowd hushed, peering around.  Only one girl remained in the crowd now, and no one yet knew who it was. I had hopped down into the crowd while the girls had been moving, and went mostly unnoticed as the announcer readied the scroll a final time.
“And now,” he said, drawing out each pause.  “Our final contender, the Prince’s Favorite.” Not a sound was heard through the whole market.  I felt my ring begin to pulse again, and realized that my heart was pounding as well. “And the Prince’s Favorite is,” the announcer paused, almost too long.  “Cyan Frued!”