"Raphaela, will you pay attention?"
Raphaela blinked. Ever since her adventure in the forest, she could think of nothing else. She had even said to herself that she would happily encounter many more bauks, instead of having to face what was approaching. Because the whole palace was busy with preparations for the arrival of her highness Queen Cinderella and her son Frederick's arrival.
At that particular time she and Madam Prewett were in the ballroom, a big beautiful room with arched windows that stretched up to the roof and a polished wooden floor. They were in here due to the fact that Raphaela had always been taught how to dance, but she had never done very well at it. So Madam Prewett, worried at the thought of her standing on the toes of her suitors, had taken it upon herself with great determination to teach Raphaela to dance acceptably, to the princesses' reluctance.
Madam Prewett sighed. "Let's try that again. One step, two step -"
Raphaela looked down at her rather large feet skipping here and there and felt ridiculous. She pulled away from Madam Prewett and exclaimed, "This is is so stupid I can't dance and never will!"
"As stubborn as ever, I see." Said a voice from behind them.
A man with shoulder-length dark hair and twinkling blue eyes was standing in the doorway of the ballroom. A golden circlet adorned his head and a long scarlet cloak swept the ground.
Raphaela, abandoning all princess-like attitudes, ran straight to the man and barreled into his arms.
"Oh, Father." She whispered.
"My little princess." The man said quietly. He held her at arms length and looked at her. "How are you feeling?"
Suddenly all Raphaela's emotions were swept into one and she felt tears spring up in her eyes. She buried her face in her father's shoulder. "I don't want to leave, Father. I don't want to go to Historith. I want to stay here with you and mother. Please don't send me away. I don't want to be a princess." And she was crying again, for the second time in two days.
You never used to cry, Raphaela told herself. Stop. But she couldn't.
Her father held her tightly and just said softly, "I know, I know."
Raphaela heard Madam Prewett cough and hurry out of the room. After a minute her father said, "Sometimes being a king overwhelms me, too. For example, I've been so busy with arrangements lately I didn't even think of you. I think it's time we practised our archery. What do you think?"
Raphaela looked up at her father's kind face. "Do you really mean it?"
Her father nodded.

Raphaela notched her arrow, pulled it tight, aimed, and released. It flew and hit the near of centre of the target ten metres away, quivering slightly as it thudded into place.
Her father nodded approval and in turn raised his bow. His arrow flew true and hit the bullseye.
Raphaela grinned. "Good shot."
Her father shook his head and smiled. "I'm afraid you'll be better than me soon enough." He said. "But I think I'll always live up to you in terms of lyre playing. You never had any patience with instruments, being the obstinate goat you are."
Raphaela did not mind the insult: she knew her father was teasing. It was the mention of one of her studies that set a frown on her face. "I just can't sit still during my lessons!" She answered. "I love the music, Father, but you can play! Isn't that enough? Isn't everything enou-" She stopped abruptly, ashamed of her complaints.
But her father only sat down in the meadow grass, where they had been practising, and patted the place next to him.
"Raphaela," He said, when she had sat down, "When I was younger I was just like you. Restless and reckless, with a thirst for adventure, and freedom. Being a prince and heir as king, those were the two things I was denied. So I, of course, took the course of action that I thought then the best. I ran away."
"I'm not as bad as all that!" Raphaela protested.
At this her father laughed. "I'm sure you would have done the exact same thing had you been in my position." He said. "We give you much more freedom than most royals your age, Raphaela. You go out alone, you ride, you get - well, you get dirty -"
Raphaela could not resist contradicting. "Excuse me! I have to endure Madam Prewett teaching me how to curtsy, speak, hold a napkin or a fork and whatnot -"
"We could," Her father interrupted calmly, "Have you embroidering in the parlour all day long, like most princesses."
Raphaela opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"But," Her father continued, "We haven't, and wouldn't do that. Why? Because we want you to have freedom. If I hadn't found mine I never would have met your mother." He smiled. "She was a spirited thing too, and no wonder, after all those years in that tower - but you know our story." He paused. "Raphaela, your mother and I have not punished you for wandering into the forest the other night, because we know what it's like to feel trapped. But sometimes you have to stand up and face your obstacle, rather than trying to escape it. You're almost fifteen now, and - and -" Raphaela was surprised to hear a break in his voice as he spoke, "And that is a marriageable age. This is your duty. And I'm sure over time you'll discover that you can find your freedom, even in Historith. You don't need to run away like I did. You have spirit, and that is all you need."
Suddenly her father pulled her into a warm embrace. Raphaela returned it, but after a moment pulled away. "You're right, Father." She said, and there was a resolute expression on her face. "It's time I stood up and faced my obstacle. But not the obstacle of accepting. I'm not going to accept marriage. Marriage is my obstacle, and I intend to put a stop to it."
And with that she stood and walked away with a firm step, her long black hair waving behind her.