M. R. Pritchard - Forgotten Princess

Forgotten Princess

M. R. Pritchard

Forgotten Princess is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2019 M. R. Pritchard

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please refer all pertinent questions to the publisher.

When the world seems to shine like youve had too much wine. Thats amore. Dean Martin

Chapter One

L ast nights snowfall had left the slopes pristine, layered in pure white like a cake draped in marzipan. Six inches of fresh powder greeted Lala at the top of the mountain and in the distance she could see the Monte Rosa royal palace. It was fairy-tale looking, all gray stone and tall towers. Giant icicles hung from slanted roofs as though someone had cut the image of a castle out of a magazine and glued it to the snowscape before her. Lala had trouble tearing her eyes away from the castle. There was something about that place she couldnt shake. And it was more than the nagging knowledge that there were twelve royal steeds in the stables behind the castle that needed tending.

Lala adjusted her goggles, shoved her spokes into the snow, and took off down the mountain. Brisk wind chapped her cheeks, sent her dark hair trailing in a river behind her. Lala weaved around outcroppings of tall pines, past a small cabin with half of the roof caved in, and she frightened a group of pigeons that fluttered off of a fallen log and into the treetops. The trail widened and narrowed around sharp curves and steep drops. This was one of the hardest on the mountain and Lala knew it like the back of her hand. Shed skied it every morning for years, couldnt escape the draw of beauty and silence and freedom.

As early as Lala could remember, her family had spent their winters in Monte Rosa. There was Anne and Baba, familial references for her aunt and uncle that shed picked up on their travels through Turkey that had stuck. There was also Sorin, Anne and Babas son, who was better than any big brother Lala could imagine. They were trusted servants of her biological mother, taken in by traveling gypsies on the road; they adapted to the lifestyle and raised Lala in the nomadic life. Since fleeing, they had never known a real home besides their caravans and tentsnot that it bothered Lala, she enjoyed life on the road. Except for the winters. The tents and caravans werent meant to withstand winter and when the snow began to fly, the King of Monte Rosa gave them refuge in exchange for honest labor. The small gypsy troupe tended to the livestock, cleaned the castle, and shoveled the cobblestone sidewalks of the royal grounds. Lala and her family were provided warmth and food in the harsh winter months, and Lala and Sorin were sent to school. Lala didnt particularly enjoy that last bit but Anne and Baba insisted that she took advantage of a Monte Rosa education. Lalas winter months were spent doing chores and studying hard.

Light flakes started to fall from the sky. Lala slowed her speed and lifted her face, catching fresh snow on her tongue. She liked it here, found the winter months to be some of the most peaceful of her life. It was a balance she enjoyed since the rest of the year she was traveling with her troupe, only stopping in various countries for short periods of time. Lala never truly had a home, except when she was in Monte Rosa. It was bittersweet, this reality. Maybe thats why Lala couldnt keep her eyes off of the castle, her past held secrets, secrets shed spent a good portion of her life running from.

Hearing the slick swish of waxed smooth skis on snow, Lala turned to find a tall figure descending the slopes, headed in her direction. In an act of complete avoidance, Lala pushed off and made her way down the mountain. She was about halfway to the bottom when a blur of red crossed in front of her. Tall and fast, with dark hair peeking out from under his hat, he turned quick and flashed Lala a wide, teasing smile; he wanted to race. She knew better but Lala couldnt control the urge. Lala bent her knees and sped after him, a smile tugging at her lips. It was rare to run into another skier this early in the morning. In all of her years here it had only happened a handful of times.

Lalas skis bit into the powder as she went faster, cutting her own trail in the packed snow. Finally she caught up with the other skier in red and they were side by side. It was exhilarating; the speed, the chill on her cheeks, the competition. A sea-salt spray of snow whipped around her, faster and faster. The other skier passed then peered back at her; Lala couldnt gain a bit of insight as to who he was. The reflective goggles prevented her from seeing his eyes. But from what she noticed of his skiing gear, the guy wasnt poor. Everything this guy wore was name brand and new. He wasnt another gypsy from her troupe, up early enjoying the slopes like her.

Probably one of the Monte Rosa elite , Lala thought. All the more reason to beat this guy at his own game, then take off, imprinting on him nothing of herself, besides the fact that shed won the race. This was something Lala had become good at; avoiding relationships with the Monte Rosa people. Lala didnt see the need, she couldnt tell any of them who she really was. Each year was a cycle of making acquaintances then leaving without saying goodbye. It was the same with the people of Monte Rosa, the Turkish goat herders, the Italian bakers and the long-legged birds of the seashores where Lala so loved to camp.

The closer they got to the base of the mountain, the higher the sun crept into the morning sky. Urgency began to overtake Lala. The horses needed fed, the stalls cleaned, and she had to get it done with enough time to get ready for school. She glanced at the guy in red with the understanding that it was time to go. Lala turned quick, spraying her uninvited companion with a wave of snow. If anything, it was a promise that this race wasnt truly over.

Lala made her way down the mountain along a lesser-known trail that would bring her to the back door of the servants quarters where she lived. Behind the royal stables, Lala released her ski boots from their bindings and brought everything inside. Near the door there was a rack for her gear. She changed into a pair of boots and coveralls as the horses neighed from nearby stalls.

Saw the snow. Figured youd be late, Baba called. Where have you been?

Lala rubbed her hands together to warm them. In massiccio del Monte Rosa, she replied.

Baba wasnt fond of her switching languages on him, he didnt have the Monte Rosa education that she had received and knew very little Italian.

Hrni caii, he replied in Romanian.

Lala headed for the feed containers as the horses grunted and neighed and reminded her that they were indeed beyond hungry waiting for her to tease Baba in various languages.