Sarah's Simon

My breaths came short and ragged in the stifling heat, especially because Martha had tied my corset ridiculously tight. I leaned my head back against the harsh tree trunk, feeling the sharp cuts of pain as the edges of the bark cut in to the nape of my neck. Simon sat across the yard, yelling at the servants. They were confused, running back and forth to do as he asks.

"Simon!" I yell, beckoning him toward me. He walks gingerly to my side, and sinks down beside me. The servants looked relieved that he is gone for now.
"What may it be, Sarah? I have just asked for some lemonade for the two of us, but I am afraid I like mine very tart, so I retrieved some sugar cubes from the parlor for you," he says, holding out a glittering cube of sugar. I take it from his hand, making it very clear that I am avoiding the touch of his hand.

"Well, you know I do not appreciate poorly treated servants," I reply. Simon frowns.
"Sarah," he begins, taking my hands in his, though I pull back, "the servants are no more than rats. You know I love you, but your philosophy on the treatment of people who work for you is a peculiar one." I look away, furious. How dare he insult my thoughts of the very kind servants.
"I want you to leave now, Simon."
"Sarah-"

"-You heard me," I say, my voice raising. "Go now." When he is gone, I bury my head into the brittle bark and cry. Why must I be forced to marry him? But it is the law for any princess. Truly, it is.

The next day, at my wedding, I cry again. Everyone assumes they are tears of joy, but they are anything but that. Simon and I are married promptly, and he grins wildly. I can't look at him, for I am filled with too much hate. Life is cruel, and this story ends with me unhappy and alone. May you hold your ground and not be forced in to something that will change your life horribly.