ROYAL CONTEST

7| CHAPTER SEVEN

ALYSSA’S POV

"Why should I wear all this? This isn't what I normally wear at home, and you guys told me to bring the clothes which I would normally wear, which I did. And now you're telling me that it's not proper clothing?" My voice trembled slightly, the anger barely held in check. I could see a few of the other ladies casting curious glances our way, their elegant gowns flowing like water around them. I stood out, and not in the way I wanted.

"Lady Alyssa," the director began, her tone painstakingly patient as if explaining something to a child, "when we said you should bring what you normally wear at home, we meant dresses, not tights and leggings. When you're in this palace, you must be a young, elegant lady who is fit for the prince. You may not admit it, but you know very well that what you're wearing isn't what a future princess of the Harrington Empire should wear."

I felt a rush of indignation. The audacity! As if clothing could define one's worthiness or character. "The princess bought these dresses for you so that you can look the part and also fit in with all the other ladies," she continued, her eyes sweeping over the luxurious gowns laid out on the bed, each one more extravagant than the last. I swear this woman wants to kill me. Why did they choose her as the director of this competition? Guys are always the best.

"I don't remember telling anyone that I want to be the next princess or that I want to fit in. I'm okay with how things are in my life, and I'm not ready to complicate them." My words were firm, yet there was a trace of desperation. I was a bird being forced into a gilded cage, and every fibre of my being resisted. "I really appreciate that Princess Clara bought these clothes for me, but I cannot take them. I will not wear them, so I don't see why I should take them with me." The director's eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"You can return them to her, and if it's taboo to return gifts in this palace, then you can do whatever you want with the clothes. Excuse me." I spun on my heel, my head held high, refusing to let her see the tears stinging my eyes. I wasn't going to stand here for another minute, feeling like an imposter in a world that wasn't mine.

I didn't realize I was going in the wrong direction until I hit a wall. Wait... Is it really a wall? Why does it have a chest-like sensation? Confusion flooded my mind, momentarily eclipsing my anger and frustration. My immediate instinct was to recoil and apologize profusely, but the warm, solid surface I had collided with was oddly comforting. I hesitated, my breath catching in my throat, unsure whether to step back or stay enveloped in this unexpected comfort.

I suppose I wasn't going in the wrong direction after all. This actually feels nice even though it wasn't expected. The feel of firm muscles beneath the fabric of a finely tailored shirt was undeniably reassuring, an anchor in this turbulent sea of palace politics and expectations. But with that realization came a rush of self-consciousness.

Finally, I mustered the courage and looked up and instantly regretted my decision. His eyes met mine, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis. I knew how attractive the prince was, but being this close to him and looking into his eyes? His handsomeness was on another level, something otherworldly that defied description.

His chiselled features, framed by dark, wavy hair that fell just perfectly into place, were the stuff of legends and fairy tales. But it was his eyes that truly captivated me, their depth and intensity pulling me in as if they held secrets of the universe.

I have never seen anything like it. He is different though, there is something out of the ordinary about his looks and his eyes... They are just perfect. They weren't just beautiful; they were expressive, revealing a blend of emotions—concern, curiosity, and something else I couldn't quite place. It felt like he could see right through me, past the layers of defence I had so carefully constructed, straight into my very soul.

I couldn't take my eyes off him, it was like I was in some kind of spell. The moment stretched on, an eternity encapsulated in mere seconds. I had never looked at someone's eyes like that before, and I never thought a day like this would come.

My heart raced, pounding against my ribcage like a frantic bird trying to escape its cage. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and I was torn between wanting to flee and wanting to stay frozen in this inexplicable enchantment forever.

His gaze softened, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and he gently steadied me with a hand on my shoulder. "Are you alright?" His voice, rich and soothing, broke the spell but not the connection. I blinked, trying to find my voice, my mind a whirl of chaotic thoughts.

"Y-yes, I'm fine," I stammered, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. I wanted to apologise but it felt like I had lost my ability to speak again.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going," I said as soon as I found my voice again, still reeling from the impact of our unexpected collision.

As he stepped back, giving me space to breathe, I couldn't help but feel a pang of loss. The brief physical connection had been unexpectedly grounding.

"No worries. I guess I should be the one to apologize, though, because I have been standing here for a while now." Huh? His words caught me off guard, and I blinked, trying to process the odd turn of the conversation. "Besides, it's not every day I have someone quite literally run into me."

He continued, his tone gentle but firm, "No one is going to force you to wear the dresses Clara gave to you, and I can assure you of that. You also don't need to worry about returning them. I'll personally talk to her on your behalf."

Relief washed over me, so profound that it felt like a physical weight lifting off my shoulders. "Thank you so much, Your Highness. I was worried that no one would understand me. All the other girls are wearing gowns, and I feel like everyone will judge me if I don't wear something similar."

"You don't have to listen to what others say about you," he replied, his gaze steady and reassuring. "If you're happy with the way you dress, then you don't have to change that because it is who you are. You're here for the contest, but you also have to remember that you have a life, and we all know that there's only one person who will win this competition."

His words resonated deeply, touching on a fear I hadn't fully acknowledged. What if I changed everything about myself to fit in, only to lose the contest and have to return to my old life? The thought was terrifying, and his insight made me realize just how precarious my situation was.

"If you change everything about you because you want to accommodate everybody in this royal household, what will happen if you end up going home? Do you think it will be easy to go back to your normal life?" His questions hung in the air, heavy with implications. "Most of the girls in there forgot about all that, and I'm not going to say anything to them."

"Thank you, Your Highness. I thought I was the only person who was thinking like that. There's twenty of us, and that means it's gonna be a tough competition." The reality of the situation settled over me like a heavy cloak. Twenty girls, all vying for the same prize. Twenty different personalities, dreams, and ambitions. The odds were daunting, but Owen's words reignited a spark of determination within me.

"Even if I was confident that I would win, I don't think it would be advisable to change myself. I also don't want to be a princess if it means I have to be anything but myself." The conviction in my voice surprised even me. I realized then that the thought of losing my identity was far more terrifying than any potential win in this competition. Who would want to spend her whole life living a lie? I prayed to never be that person.

"Besides, if I were to win the competition after I changed myself, that would mean I would have to live the rest of my life miserable." The very thought of it was suffocating. To sacrifice my essence, my individuality, just to fit into a mould that wasn't designed for me—it was a price I wasn't willing to pay.

Owen nodded, his expression thoughtful. "That's exactly the right attitude to have. The crown, the title, they mean nothing if you're unhappy. That's something I would never want for you or anyone else. The role of a princess is demanding enough without adding the burden of pretence. The people who truly care about you will respect you for who you are, not for who you pretend to be."

"You don't have to worry about my sister, she's a very understanding woman." He smiled at me, and I found myself smiling back at him. I don't think I will ever stop being in awe of his smile.

The man's smile could make you do things you would usually find embarrassing. His warmth and genuine kindness radiated from that simple gesture, making me feel like I was seen and accepted for who I was, quirks and all.

I wanted to ask him if Princess Clara was his sister or cousin, but then I realized I would be overstepping my boundaries. Maybe it was written in the document they had sent to me that I didn't bother to read. The formalities and histories, the genealogies and titles—it was all so overwhelming at the time, and I had shoved it aside, thinking I could pick up the essentials as I went along. Princess Clara didn't look like the Emperor and Empress, so I guess I should assume that she is a cousin or adopted. The question hung on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it back, opting instead for silent speculation.

As Prince Owen led me outside and we made our leisurely walk through the gardens, I couldn't help but let my mind wander back to the earlier confrontation with the director. The rigidity and expectations of the palace clashed starkly with the natural beauty surrounding us. The meticulously maintained flowerbeds and the symphony of colours seemed to mock the artificiality imposed upon us. How could something so vibrant and alive coexist with such stifling rules?

Owen seemed to sense my unease. "The gardens are one of my favourite places in the palace," he said, his voice soft and reflective. "They remind me that despite all the protocols and appearances, life is about growth and change. It's about finding beauty in the unexpected."

I glanced around, taking in the splendour of the blooming roses, the delicate daisies, and the towering oaks that seemed to whisper ancient secrets. The palace, with all its grandeur and formality, was still just a backdrop to the true essence of life that flourished in these gardens.

"I can see why you love it here," I replied, my voice tinged with newfound appreciation. "It's a place where you can breathe, where you can just be."

"These gardens have been my sanctuary ever since I was a child," he said, his eyes reflecting a distant memory. "Whenever I felt overwhelmed or out of place, I'd come here to find solace. It's like the flowers and trees have a way of reminding you that it's okay to be different, that it's okay to grow at your own pace."

"Thank you for sharing this place with me," I said with a smile.