I looked down demurely. He assessed me with lupine eyes. Flash. The picture taken, the photographer moved to capture my parents.
He licked his lips, brazenly taking my hand, holding it so tightly, removal was impossible. He pushed his body against mine; his hands in places they should not be.
Ahem – the head butler showed us into the parlor where my parents waited impatiently.
Their daughter, the troublesome one, to marry into royal blood. To think, a glimpse at the Duke’s ball lead to the arrival of a proposal of marriage! They counted their blessings, and the advantages to come their way.
The prince, dressed royal finery, strode in. The arrangements already made, this was to finalize the details. The prince insisted on coming; normally his personal secretary handled his such things.
The prince and my parents droned on. Never once was I consulted; my opinion asked.
I realized this would be my life: invisible unless needed for royal functions or to be gossiped about.
The prince would exert control over every aspect of my life from dress to friends. My ability to think, to dream, to take action pushed behind an ever locked door.
I stood up. “No.” Their shocked silence followed me out of the room.
Written for Tale Weaver’s Prompt: Masque