Find Me Alastar

Since her beloved mother was captured along with her guards, and murdered by a kingdom enemy

when she was only ten, the kingdom adopted her and adored her. Known far and wide as the people’s

Princess, she takes her role seriously. She wears red velvet, a low cut dress with a full skirt. Her waist

is always cinched in with a strong corset and her dark hair is in perfect curls on top of her head. Her

skin is porcelain and her eyes a fiery green. Her back is ramrod straight from years of impeccable

grooming. She walks toward the line up of guards and stops in front of Alchron. His dark, wanting eyes

look up at her as he remains on his knees, and she feels her heart flutter in her chest. She has come

prepared today. She has a letter held tightly in her hands for him. A letter she wrote over twelve

months ago but has never had the courage to give to him. “Stand,” she commands him as the crowd

watch on.

He does so immediately and she holds out her empty hand. He frowns and looks down at it. Never

has she asked him to touch her.

“Take my hand.” She smiles hopefully.

He takes it and she feels the strong calluses from his years of hard battle. What would it feel like to

have those callused hands on her skin? She puts her other hand in his and discretely slips him the

letter. His eyes narrow slightly as he takes the note from her.

“Thank you for your service,” she whispers softly and curtsies. He bows his head. The crowd cry

out with cheers of joy and she turns away from him, gracefully returning to her position at the front.

“All hail The King!” Alchron yells and the soldiers and crowd all repeat, “All hail The King!”

“Marching!” he yells his command, and like a well-oiled machine, his troops all turn and march

out of the assembly. Their armor echoes as it clinks together, the sound of their stamping feet loud

once again.

The princess’ heart beats faster in her chest. She did it; she got the letter to him.

Alchron holds his letter with white-knuckle force as he marches back to the army’s base.

This homecoming is especially sweet.

I wait outside on the curb for Brielle to pick me up. Willow plays soccer so she has asked me to come

along and keep her company. It’s not ideal venting territory, but at least I get to speak to her. This job of

hers is turning out to be a nightmare. It’s full on and a damn pain in my neck. The car pulls up and she

smiles from behind the wheel of her luxurious family wagon. I giggle and open the door. It’s like the

Venga bus on acid with the kids all in the back.

“Hello.” I smile to the kids as I climb into the high vehicle.

“Hi,” the boy answers while the girl just grunts. I glance at Brelly and she smiles broadly, grabbing

my hand. “I’m missing you.”

“Me, too.” I turn in my seat to face the kids. Willow rolls her eyes and looks out the window.

This girl is just as she described: a moody little witch. I can’t remember being that age but Mum says I

was woeful. We arrive at soccer and Willow grabs her stuff and runs across the fields to her game.

Samuel retrieves his soccer ball and disappears to the opposite end to kick his ball around.

“Spill,” Brielle says, deadpan, as she slams the car trunk closed. Of course I text and told her the

minute Mr. Twinkle left the office earlier today.

I shake my head because I can hardly believe it myself. “He turned up at work today and asked for my

number.”

She frowns and puts her hands on her hips. “What?” she replies before she gestures to the café to buy

coffee.

I nod as we start walking. “It’s true.”

She smiles broadly and bites her bottom lip. “It was your first frigging day on the job. How did he

know where you work?”

“He didn’t, it was a coincidence. He’s a bloody artist,” I snap.

She shakes her head. “Jeez, what are the chances?”

I smile stupidly. Truth be told, I was excited beyond belief when I saw him there.

She holds both of her hands up. “Okay. I’m lost. Last time you saw him he ignored you.”

I glare at her, not saying anything in response.

“Oh no, sorry. I forgot. That’s right he kissed you on the street without saying a word.” I smirk. “ThisContent © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

is true.”

“Right before he walked off…”

I nod. “Also true.”

She frowns. “And you like this guy? I thought you said he was an arrogant dick?”

I shrug as we arrive at the cafeteria and stand at the back of the line. “Maybe I was wrong? Today I

saw a weird, hot vulnerability in him.”

She raises her eyebrows as she listens.

“When he looks to the right, one of his eyes is different. It’s a bit of a turn on, to be honest.” She

frowns again. “What’s wrong with his eye?”

I shake my head annoyed at her eye questions. “It’s slightly turned. I didn’t notice it at first.”

She pulls a disgusted face. “Somebody probably poked it out with a pencil.”

I look at her, stoney faced. “Are you finished? This isn’t funny.”

She smiles. I check my phone for the tenth time. “He hasn’t called, though,” I whisper as we move to

the front of the line.

She rolls her eyes. “Give it time.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s going on with Mark?” she asks.

“He’s…” I hesitate as I try to articulate my words.

“Two lattes, please,” she asks the server behind the till. “He’s what?” She smirks.

The coffee lady is listening, so we choose to wait in silence for our coffees, then head back to the car.

“He’s not really my type, I don’t think,” I mumble as I climb into the Venga bus.

“Why not?”

I throw my head back into the headrest and slam the car door. “I don’t know. There is definitely no

lightning striking me.” I think for a moment. “But I have to tell you, I have been having the weirdest of

dreams.”

She looks over at me. “What kind of dreams?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, a young girl with dark hair. She’s, like, in old fashioned times.”

She screws up her face deep in thought and we both watch the kids kick the ball in front of the car.

“Hey, maybe you are going to be an author?” I smirk as my eyes flicker back to her face. “Why do you say

that?”

“Apparently authors do this weird thing where the characters just come to them and wont leave until

they tell their story.”

“Are you serious?”

“Maybe you are going to be an author and your first subject has long brown hair.” She widens her

eyes in excitement and I laugh out loud.

“That could be cool, actually,” I whisper.

“Write down what you dream about. You never know? There could be a novel in there somewhere.”