Wake up, little princess, I have your sword. There is no more time for sleeping, the evening comes. After nightfall there will be no more dawn unless you defeat the dark queen. It is your birthright to challenge her and it is foretold that you will prevail. Take the sword, Adeline, and fight with all the strength you have.
The princess had been raised as a commoner, humble and kind, forever committed to the ideals of service. The day they brought her the crown expecting her to swoon and cry for joy, she kicked it clear off the velvet cushion, the jewels glittering until they fell into the farmyard muck. Yet after some thought she appeared to relent, to take the coronation in good grace. No sooner was she crowned than she was back on the streets in peasant clothes, only this time with her entourage of palace cooks to give bread to every hungry stomach.
There was a time when a princess was a humble person, one who knows she has been given the honour of service, the duty to bestow a great example of love and caring. That time was the past. That time is the future to come. You are the start. Royalty means rich in love, glittering yet always humble to the core. A kingdom begins in the heart and is honestly won, royalty wins with truth, hard work and perseverance. So though "princess" in your time means something quite different, know that to me it simply means a girl with a pure heart and soul. That's what you are. That's what this world needs.
The princess scowled as her maid pulled knots from her hair, another audience with a president. Her mind was on a grand escape plan, a way to be a regular person. There must be a clown out there stupid enough to want to be a princess, some pea-brain who thought happiness could be contained in densely packed carbon and a certain yellow metal. Her breath flew from between her lips as the corset was pulled tight, a knobbly knee pressed into her back for leverage. Her eyes fell on the tiara, as uncomfortable as if it were made of sharp pins, how wonderful it would be to dress in a loose smock with only flowers in her hair.
The princess examined her hands, so identical to her maid. She let her hair hang loose, dull when compared to her cook's. She ran her hands over her skin, smooth, but without the pretty freckles of her gardener's assistant. Really, what was the point in being royal if the commoners would sparkle brighter than her jewels? Perhaps it was time for a new law, something to instruct the "little people" not to shine like the stars in the heavens. After all, they had no right to be special, no right to shine like heaven sent stars. She reached for a pen, time to draft the new declaration...
In the gloom there is steam, rising in short puffs, miniature clouds disappearing into the twilight. Kalin crouched, resting the hilt of her sword on the rain-soaked ground before raising a licked finger to the air. Wind in her face, good, that might give her the edge. She stood, lithe even in her brother's armour. If it was her destiny to be sacrificed to this beast she might as well make a fairer fight of it. Being chained to a wooden post in virginal white was so last century. It wasn't appropriate anyway, but only one other person knew that and he wasn't telling anyone.
A princess carries the royal seal and upon her graduation lets it become her blood. From that moment onwards she is bound to serve her people, creation, and God in all the ways she can.
A princess is an angel warrior of the love-nexus, one chosen to her path by the highest power in creation. Her nemesis is that chosen by evil, by indifference and cruelty, that given impulse by vanity and vice. And so see her thus, as the fighter she is, because it takes the strongest of souls to become what she is.