By Meggie, Copyright, 2010 (Protected with copyscape)

Year by year hundreds of princes in dashing robes had come proposing marriage for the princess to the king ever since his daughter had been born. Rosaline was beautiful- and she held the key to her father’s kingdom for when she was but a week old her mother had died and the king had sworn never again to marry. Rosaline was (though a girl) next in line for the throne.
She had never really noticed the suitors as a child, but now as she was becoming a young lady, she saw the handsome rich princes in hope, maybe this was the one?
“Not yet, Rosaline.” Her father would always say. But as Rosaline pulled a comb roughly through her golden hair she hated her father for it. She had fallen in love with Prince Philip, who was handsome and quoted many lines of Shakespeare whenever they met. He was perfect in her eyes. But when he had come to ask the princess’ hand, the king had smiled kindly at his daughters hopeful face and said.
“Not yet, Rosaline.”
Now she was running away, hoping that her father would never find her and Philip once they were married. She did not care if she ever saw her father again, she would have Philip. Thats all she ever wanted.  She was leaving tonight.

As Rosaline snuck out of the cover of darkness, she felt a niggling feeling in her heart. She was going to leave her father for this man. She started to wonder if her father was right, maybe she shouldn’t be running away. But as she saw him in the shadows beckoning her onwards she shook her head in disgust. The king didn’t know anything about true love, it had been fifteen years now since her mother had died, how could he remember? How could he know whats best for her when she could just follow her heart and be happy?

A year later, Rosaline lay down after a busy day next to her husband, prince Philip. They were living with Philips parents in their gorgeous castle. She had been perfectly happy with her new found marriage- until tonight.
In the dinining room she could still hear  the voices of Philips parents who were quite old and frail. As she had climbed the stairs under the great chandelier, she had heard them talking.
“Just wait for the king to die, and they can announce themselves as the next in line!”
“Why, when they could have the throne now? If we just disposed of the king – the ransom didn’t work, he has hardly any money, the fool.”
“Assassins are highly priced nowadays, however.”
As the conversation had unfolded, Rosaline had realized that Philip did not actually love her, but that he had been acting. It explained those long hunts for deer every day and when he was suddenly called away on urgent business that he could not explain. He had been running away from her for a year now.  
Her father must think her dead.

Instead of slipping into the great four-poster bed next to Philip, Rosaline grabbed a candle and fled from the palace. Which way was home? She could only guess. Tripping into a stream she waded across in her gown, splattering mud all up her ballooning sleeves. Through a large wood she fled, it would be midnight soon, she had to make haste! Darting through bushes, soon she was scraped all the way up her arms. She could hear hunting dogs now in the distance; searching for her.
From pure exhaustion she tripped over a root that peeked out of the ground cunningly. She lay there a minute, and then fell to sleep, her brow wrinkled with sadness.