Chapter Two

It was seven in the evening when I got home. Hilda opened the gate, and it looked like she had been crying.

"Hilda, what happened?"

She dabbed at her eyes before answering. "Miss," she sniffed. "They're waiting for you."

"Who?"

"Ma'am Carole and your cousin," she replied. "Come on in, it's getting cold."

I followed her across the hall then to the living room. Carole and Leah were sitting on the couch, probably sipping tea. Carole also looked like she was about to cry. Leah's brows were knitted together, and they both looked up as I walked in.

"Sit down, Annaliese," Carole said and pointed to the couch opposite them.

I reluctantly sat down. "What's wrong?" I asked nervously.

Carole forced a smile. "Nothing. What makes you think something is wrong?"

I looked at Hilda, who was standing behind Carole. She wiped her tears and headed to the kitchen. "Hilda's crying, and you look like you've been crying too." If she really cried, she'd say that it's because of her allergy and she put too much eye drops.

"What? No, I just put too much eye drops," she said.

Right. "So, Leah, what brings you here?" I asked.

Her expression was stern, and that frightened me. "My father sent me," she answered rather coldly.

Unconsciously, I rubbed the back of my hand. It was a mannerism I adopted whenever I am nervous or when I know something bad is going to happen.

"Why? I just saw him a while ago."

"He sent me to convince her," she replied with a look at Carole, who was biting her bottom lip.

What does Robert think he's doing?

I could feel my blood starting to boil, but somehow I remembered that Leah was only a messenger. It would not be right if I lash out at her. "My stepmother does not have anything to do with my decision," I said, my voice gaining control. "I told him I'll think about it."

Leah shrugged. "He thinks you need convincing."

My hands balled into fists. "My father bestowed the right to me, and I will decide whatever I see fit and whenever I want. Tell him to leave us alone, and I'll tell him my decision in a few days."

She shook her head. "I can't do that. He wants you to decide until tomorrow."

Any moment and I'll explode. "I'll decide when I want to decide. I am sorry, Leah, but I want you to leave. Now."

She looked at me with a strange expression, and then stood up. "Before I leave, I have to tell you, I admire your stubbornness." Her voice softened a little. "And I personally think that you should sell. I mean, it's for your own good. You – I mean, we – are too young to manage things like that. And, you don't want to cross Daddy, if you want what's best for you. He gets what he wants." She pressed a piece of paper in my hand, grabbed her bag and left.

I looked at Carole, who was furiously drying her eyes.

"You. Why are you crying?"

She glowered at me and went upstairs, leaving me to think, but before I could start wondering what I was going to do, I heard Hilda raising her voice.

"Go away! Leave us alone!"

I immediately rushed outside, and flashes lit up the porch. "Not again."

"Miss Carter, is it true that this house is under mortgage?" someone shouted.

"What?" I saw Hilda trying to drive them away, but the group of reporters wouldn't budge. "Leave us alone," I said as loud as I could.

"Miss Carter, what about the businesses? Is it true that you have not inherited your parents' talent for managing? About your one day term in the office?"

How did they know? "Go away," I said simply.

"Miss Carter, is the rumor that your uncle Robert is trying to buy your share of your father's business?"

Robert.

"Leave me alone," I said through gritted teeth.

"Why don't you sell it, seeing as you are incapable?" someone shouted from the back of the group.

I opened my mouth to answer, but it seemed my brain to mouth connection was broken. I stared at them, and the questions fired at me like an automatic. Was I planning to take on the businesses myself? Was I ready to make big decisions, taking in the fact that my parents and their parents before them worked hard for what I am inheriting?

I felt my body tremble and my fists clench. They kept pressing and pressing on, until I could hardly breathe. Without thinking, as a reporter advanced on me, I grabbed her by her collar, and using my rage as a source, I punched her jaw, sending her flying towards the others.

"WHY WON'T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?"

"Miss Annaliese," I heard Hilda say.

The reporters looked at me crossly, but I was ready to vent my fury on them. The lady whom I punched stood up, adjusted her dress, and without saying anything, walked away. The others followed her, and one by one they left, and I found myself staring into the sky.

Growing up in a family like mine, even though I knew that many would die just to be in my place, wasn't easy. None of my parents are stereotypes of business magnates. They were liberal, but their parents weren't. My socialite grandmothers always pushed me to the edge, making me go through what they call "education at an early age" and which I call "torture at an early age". Who seriously trains a three year old how to walk elegantly down the staircase? My hair, when I was just five, was already damaged from all the curling and the treatments they did. I learned to apply makeup when I was six. I was already walking in three inches heels when I was seven. Then it stopped after my mother died.

My father, on the other hand, allowed me the all the freedom he could give me, even though I knew his parents weren't too pleased. They thought that I should have started working in the companies when I was fifteen so that I would be trained. However, he always rejected the idea.

"You're my daughter," he used to say. "It runs in your blood. It will come out eventually."

My father never said his frustrations with me outright, and that's what scared me most. I'm not much of a people-pleaser, but since my father was all that I had left, I couldn't afford to disgrace him. I tried learning under my father for some time, but it was horrible. All I did was screw up. But the harder I tried, the larger the mistakes I made. And that's when I realized that I could never get things right. So I gave up.

When Hilda announced dinner, I was staring at the huge portrait of my father and my mother holding me as a baby.

"Miss, time for dinner," she said, loud enough to wake me from my reverie.

"Hilda! Don't sneak up on me like that."

"Sneak up?" Hilda grinned. "If you hadn't been so lost into space, you would have heard me calling you minutes ago."

"Huh?"

"What are you thinking about?" she asked and looked at the portrait.

"My mother. My father. What it would have been like if they didn't die," I said gloomily.

Hilda laughed as she patted my shoulder. "I also have wondered about that for a million times, especially for Ma'am Veronica. Whenever Ma'am Carole gets mad about nothing."

I couldn't stop myself. "What was my mother like?"

"Your mother was . . . What kind of question is that?"

"I was seven when she died." Hilda's smile became sympathetic. "I remember her sweet smile, her voice when she reads to me in bed, her touch, her kind words whenever I scraped my knee..."

Hilda chuckled. "She was very kind, very sweet, and I never heard her raise her voice to your father, or to anyone of us. I don't think she gets angry at all. Once, when Gary accidently drove through the beautiful roses that she had planted, she just smiled and said that she'll clean it up and plant new ones."

"Oh," I said, my voice small. "Oh."

"I know you're in shock right now, and no doubt, very confused too." Hilda glanced at the portrait again. "But, just like what you said, it's your decision to make. Yes, it really takes time, because you are afraid you'll make the wrong choice. What's important is that you'll never regret whatever you decide." She sighed and patted my shoulder. "What am I saying? Let's eat, and then you have to sleep. Big day tomorrow."

Of course I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned, but I couldn't get my uncle's words out of my head. I wanted to say yes immediately when he offered. I'd be a terrible replacement for my parents. I could lose the businesses and throw away their sacrifices. But if I refuse, who knows what he'll do? As I paced in my room, I remembered the piece of paper that fell out of the old book. I searched under the bed but I couldn't find it. Hilda must have cleaned up.

I was about to give up when I saw it from the corner of my eye. There it was, on my table. I sat down and began to read. I held back tears when I saw my father's beautiful handwriting.

Annaliese,

If you receive this letter, then I am no longer with you for seven months. My will has been read, and I know you must be facing now terrible decisions. You must be resenting me for dying.

I cannot help you from where I am now. I am truly sorry for leaving you with such burdens from Veronica and me. But, we know that you are a strong girl. After all, you are my daughter.

The road you now have to take is not easy. I am sure that you have realized it by now. And this is the last gift I can give you. Inside this box is my treasured pen. It is the one that I have used in writing those stories that you loved so much when you were little. The pen, along with the book, will help you solve your problems. It will help you make the right decisions, which you will find useful later on. It will aid you in creating your own story and your own adventures.

Only remember, things are not always what they seem to be. You cannot trust everyone that you will meet along your journey. The things that you least expect to help you will be the ones to save your life. And once you open that door, matters that have been confusing may start to make sense, but they will not always be pleasant.

Annaliese, I know your struggles. But you must never run away.

Until then, my daughter. You must continue on what I have started.

Your father,

John

He knew this was going to happen? He knew he was going to die soon? That was why his will was already organized? As far as I knew, he didn't have any deadly disease or something. However, if he died a few years later into the future, I could have taken on the business. But . . .

I wiped my tears away and reread the letter again. It calmed me, but the last part didn't make any sense at all. It was fatherly advice, but something tells me that there's more than that.

I looked at the clock. It was ten in the evening. I really should be sleeping now, but my father's letter made me uneasy about something. I pulled out the book and studied it.

The pages looked ancient, like it would be torn to pieces if you flipped them. And there were traces of ink in the first pages. Faint, but quite discernable. It was my father's writing. He used to write in the book, but what happened to the stories? I didn't see him tear it from the book, and I couldn't see any bits of torn paper in the spine. There were only three words I could understand though.

"Annaliese. Cyrus. Seriah."

My father, when he wrote those stories, always named the heroine after me. As for the other two, I think that was the last story he wrote, about a fictional kingdom he called Seriah, and other three kingdoms. He never finished it, and my mother never read it to me, because that's when she died.

I stared at the piece of paper Leah gave me. It had numbers scribbled on it, and I knew that was her father's phone number. I couldn't stall Robert forever. My hand reached for my phone in the desk, but I stopped before I could finish dialing. I must make my own decisions. I had to try. But before that. . .

I gripped the pen and notebook in my hands. I closed my eyes, tried to remember the story, and began to write.

It was about half past eleven when I felt drowsy and tired. I only wrote about five pages, but I didn't have the strength to write another word. I was only a kid when my father wrote it, but I remember the details clearly. As I recalled the story, my happy childhood memories came back, when my mother and father were still alive. I had to remind myself that I was writing in order to focus. It was the only way that I think would preserve this memory of theirs. After all, my father told me to continue what he had started.

It was almost midnight. I read the last words I had written. "Cyrus and Cepheus, sent by the king, ventured into the woods to find the princess."

"That's enough for today," I told myself. I closed the book, but then it suddenly flipped open. I closed it again, and it opened just the same.

"Whatever." I decided to leave it as it was. I changed into my nightgown, turned the lights off and climbed into bed.

I shut my eyes, and let my mind drift away, but the light shining in my room wouldn't let me. I sat up, and it was coming from the book.

I got up from my bed and studied the book. The light came from the pages of the book, and the book itself started glowing.

Am I already asleep? I slapped myself in the cheek. No, I'm awake. Maybe I need to see a shrink tomorrow.

The glowing intensified. It felt like it was calling me, and I slapped myself again in the other cheek. I am definitely hallucinating. I better get some sleep.

I turned around, but the calling grew stronger. Then I felt a breeze, and it smelled like fresh air, the smell of pine. I looked at the windows but they were all shut.

Slowly I faced the book. The words I wrote started to become bigger. It drew me to it, and with trembling hands, I touched the pages.

I could only scream as I was pulled into darkness.

What I first felt when I became conscious was the cold, hard ground. The harsh wind blew in my face. I was about to sit up when I felt icy cold water thrown at me, causing me to yelp.

"Why did you do that?" a voice said. "I am deeply sorry for the General's behavior. He is simply impatient." Then I felt something warm wrapped around me.

I stood up and wiped the water off my face.

"Let me dry that, Your Highness."

Your Highness?

My face was promptly dried, and when I opened my eyes, my mouth flew open.

Two handsome men in coats were standing in front of me, watching me. The one was holding a cloth, and the other one had his arms folded across his chest.

"W-who–" I stammered, but I was tongue-tied.

"We have to go now, Princess. Your father is waiting for you," the one with the cloth said. He was tall, with unruly auburn hair and emerald eyes like mine. He had an impish look in his eyes, like he knew something I didn't.

The other man was the most gorgeous man I had ever seen. I had seen celebrities and he looked like them, only better. He was taller than his companion, with cropped jet black hair and electric blue eyes. Strong jaws, well-defined nose. He regarded me with a puzzling expression, and the moon made his eyes... sparkle.

I looked at them, and then gazed at the surroundings. Where am I? All I could see were silhouettes of trees created by the torches near their horses. Horses. Okay. I think I'm dreaming. That must be it.

"Shall we?" the auburn-haired one said, offering his hand.

I am dreaming. I should wake up before this turns into a nightmare. I turned around, took a deep breath, and then hit the nearest tree with my head.

It. Hurts.

I tried to slap myself in both cheeks as hard as I could. Still here.

I screamed as loud as I could. They were gawking at me in bemusement.

"Princess? Are you all right?" the friendly one said. He stepped closer.

I held my hands in front of me. "Wait. Hold up. Who are you people? Where am I?"

They looked at each other.

"I think you bumped your head pretty hard when you tripped over there," the unfriendly one said and smirked.

"I didn't trip." I looked at my arms and my hands, and there were scratches all over. It started to sting. And using my head to hit the tree made it even worse.

"Shall we go now?" the friendly one asked again.

"No," I replied.

He was clearly surprised. "What?"

"I am not going with strangers."

The unfriendly one laughed. "Strangers? What are you talking about, Your Highness?" He uttered the last two words with disgust with a matching stare.

"I am not going with rude strangers who throw ice cold water at me," I snapped.

The friendly one waved his hands in the air. "Uh, Your Highness, please forgive him. He is very impulsive, so please forgive him."

"Cepheus, if she doesn't want to come with us, then why should we force her to? We're just wasting our time," the rude one said as he turned his back on me.

The nerve! He poured water on me, then say I am a waste of time?

The friendly one, Cepheus, waved his hands in front of me. "Please, come with us."

The rude one shrugged, as if he couldn't wait to get out of here. Well then, I'll waste more of your time.

"Come on," the friendly one said. "We have to go now, before they find us."

"All right then." I took his hand. It was very warm to the touch. "Then, could you at least tell me where I am?"

He wrinkled his nose and sighed. "You are in the Enchanted Woods, Your Highness."

He called me that again. I didn't ask why, because the other man was trying not to laugh, again. But . . .

"Enchanted Woods?"

"Yes. We were sent to rescue you," he answered.

This is too much. I can only recall one place where you find Enchanted Woods. "Where are we again?"

"The Enchanted Woods. In case you're worried, we are still in Seriah," he said.

Seriah. What on earth am I doing in my fictional kingdom?