I felt the world tilt. My pastries. Auntie’s pastries. The ones she made because she said she liked me. I couldn’t breathe.
“Grandma…” My voice came out tiny and scratchy. “Please don’t…those were for…”
“You should be ashamed,” she cut me off. “Do you enjoy humiliating our royal blood? Do you enjoy embarrassing your father?”
“I…I didn’t…” Tears started rolling down my face without asking me first. “Daddy didn’t say…”
“Your father has been far too soft with you,” she hissed. “But I will not allow such disgrace. You are a princess. You do not eat peasant food.”
I cried harder. I couldn’t afford to make it so loud. But it was the deep, quiet, and broken kind. I could feel my throat get small and smaller with each pitch I hit inwardly. She turned away, muttering about “witches giving birt
