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It wasn’t hard for twelve-year-old Azelyn to decide what the worst thing about being a princess was: being twelve.

“Why can’t I go?” she begged for the fifteenth time that day, and it was only late morning.

Queen Charlotte didn’t glance down at her youngest daughter nor did she pause. She continued striding briskly down the long gallery towards the ballroom where she would oversee the final bit of decorating. Her tight-lipped expression made it obvious that the last thing she wanted was little Azelyn tagging along and pleading to be allowed to attend the night’s event. Constantly Azelyn had begged, and now the queen was tired of listening and so she ignored her daughter.

“Mama, please,” Azelyn continued, her voice lifting in a whine.

“Hush, Azelyn,” Queen Charlotte said brusquely, and her pace quickened. Now Azelyn was almost running, her hands holding her skirts up above her ankles so she wouldn’t trip.

“But Mama, it’s not fair. I’m old enough to go. Why can’t I just go for a little? An hour, Mama. I’ll leave before ten o’clock, I promise, and I won’t complain. Please.” Azelyn’s eyes were starting to itch, and she blinked to hold back the tears.

“Azelyn, I have told you. No. Lilianna and Rosalyn had to wait until they were thirteen, and so will you. Now I’m sure your tutors are looking for.” Queen Charlotte pushed through the great double doors and let them swing shut behind her, keeping Azelyn out in the hallway.

Azelyn pouted. She was half-tempted to march right into the ballroom and continue making her demands, but she decided against it. It would be too foolish. Her hands dropped from where they were braced against the doors, ready to push them open, and she turned and started dejectedly down the hall the way she had come, her feet shuffling, her arms swinging, her eyes on the floor in front of her.
It just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. She was old enough now. She was mature enough. Besides, she had only asked to attend the dance for an hour. An hour. Sixty minutes. She wasn’t asking to stay there all night. That showed responsibility. She was willing to compromise.

Her lips jutted out furiously. Being the youngest just wasn’t fair. She had spent five years watching Lily prepare for balls and three watching Rose. She wanted for once to be the one being pampered. She was twelve. And a half. Closer to thirteen than to twelve. She was not a child, and she didn’t see why she should be treated as one.

“It’s just not fair,” she muttered.

“What isn’t?”

“Nothing, Lily,” Azelyn said venomously.

“Really? So this is not about you not being allowed to attend the ball tonight?”

Azelyn shook her head. “No.”

“So it’s only a coincidence that you’re walking away from the ballroom, where I know for a fact Mother has gone to supervise the decorating?”

“Yes.”

“I believe that.”

Azelyn continued walking. She did not want to talk to Lily.

“I’m sorry, Azelyn,” Lily called softly after her.

Azelyn didn’t even slow down. She considered it, but her feet continued to move at the same pace. She was just too frustrated at the moment the moment to be rational. She used to get along fine with Lily, but that was before she started to realize that Lily wasn’t a very good princess at all and was rather embarrassing to the royal family. Since that fact had appeared in her mind, Azelyn had taken to avoiding Lily whenever she could and keeping what conversation was needed to a minimum and to boring but uncontroversial topics like the weather. Either it was raining or it wasn’t. Nothing debatable about that.

What really hurt was that she knew Lily had noticed that she was distancing herself but didn’t know why.

But Azelyn couldn’t let that bother her. And in a way, it was a good thing that she was spending less time with Lily because she was getting to know Rose better. For most of her life, Azelyn had relatively ignored her fifteen-year-old sister. Rose had always seemed too cold to go to when something was wrong, but now Azelyn was older and smarter and knew that in reality Rose was just princess-like.

Azelyn paused outside Rose’s bedroom door and lifted her hand to knock. Then she decided against it. She was mature, which meant that she had to be responsible and attend her lessons before she could seek advice from Rose. So she spun around, enjoying the feeling of her long skirts twirling around her legs, and marched off back the way she had come towards the small library used as the royal schoolroom.