Genevieve woke with a start, sitting up in shock. She sighed with relief; it was just a dream.
The sun had not yet started over the horizon; magenta and orange streaks promised the near
sunrise. Her sisters were all still sleeping soundly. She lay back down, thinking. Why didn't Derek care for her? He was always...so pleasant, but distant. Fallon may have had her opinions, but that was just Fallon. She always had some crazy romantic idea. This was Derek, who never even noticed her. She could remember when they were little...his father was the cobbler at the time, so when the royal family needed shoes, the princesses had
an extra playmate. Genevieve's mind wandered, memories flooding back, taking her to when she was six and Derek was eight.
"I'm a boy, so I'm stronger than you!" Derek insisted.
"No you're not!"Genevieve protested, stomping her foot. She shoved him. "See?"
Derek pushed her a little harder, and she fell backwards. She looked up, pouty tears in her blue eyes.
"Oh, no, I'm so sorry!" Derek cried, helping her up. She took his hand and indignantly scrambled to her feet, dusting off her rumpled skirt. "I'm so sorry, Genevieve!" Derek said again, embarrassment written all over his face. "Come on, I'll race you," he said. And of course he let her win.
Genevieve smiled at the memory. Later on that day, she'd whispered to Fallon, "I'm gonna marry that boy someday!"
Ha-well, that hadn't exactly worked out yet.
Her memories took her back again; this time, she was thirteen and Derek was fifteen.
"Derek!" Edeline called out. "Come play racquetball with us!"
"I'm sorry, your highness. Please excuse me." the handsome, ruddy boy turned and walked away.
"Well!" Fallon huffed. Genevieve hurried after him.
"Derek!" she cried. "Wait!" She gathered her full skirts and ran to catch up. "What's wrong? You always used to play games with us. Lately you barely speak to us!"
"I'm truly sorry, your highness. My father needs my help."
"Silly, don't call me highness! I'm just Genevieve."
"You don't understand. I'm not a royal-I have to call you Highness."
"But that doesn't matter," Genevieve said, bewilderdly.
"I'm a common shoemaker's son. You're...a princess." Derek sighed. "And we're older now."
"But..."
"My mother told me that I can't play with you girls anymore, and I must call you "Your Highness" and treat you with respect."
"Well, that's silly!" Genevieve said, frustrated.
"Again, I'm sorry."
"So...does this mean you can't even...talk to me--us--anymore?"
"I..." Derek trailed off, a sinking feeling in his heart. "No. I can't. We're too old for playing games."
Genevieve looked down, her eyes filling.
"Don't cry, princess," Derek said, leaning in, lifting her chin with his finger. She was so beautiful. Her deep blue eyes, pale blonde hair, and features so fine they could have belonged to a china doll. Blast it that they were worlds apart! He wished he could tell her just what he thought of her.
Without thinking he leaned in and kissed her, taking both her hands in his. Then he dropped them and ran.
Genevieve, shocked, watched him bound across the garden. Her mouth hung open for a moment, then she snapped it shut.
She lifted her fingers to her lips, wishing he'd said something. Then she giggled. Surely he liked her. And that thought made her feel all right again.
Genevieve was lightheaded, dizzy. She spun around, smoothing her skirt, dancing with an imaginary figure.
She twirled and hummed her way back to the castle. She was going to tell her mother right away, about her first kiss.
But when she was inside, all was silent. Even the triplets, who were usually gibbering and toddling around,
were silent. Ashlyn came and took Genevieve's hand. Her face was streaked with tears. A cold knot curled up in Genevieve's stomach and settled there. They walked towards their parents' bedroom...

Genevieve stopped the memories before they became painful. She sat up again, rubbing her eyes. The sun was peeping up now, and her sisters were beginning to stir.
Time to get up and give her youngest sisters their birthday surprise.