Anna Danielle Sabine 

After months of sea voyage, trekking on nothing but, well, water, I find myself in a well-decorated carriage, squeezed in between my mother and father. I dare not peek outside for I might forget the last images, the last scents and sounds of France I had kept in my head. "The memories are not going to go away," my father said in justification of "despite the fact that we are." 

The carriage stopped in front of a red, wooden gate lined along with, for my taste, quite short, gray, stone walls. It was fancy, I suppose. A little, almost molecular, part of me had gotten quite excited. So we marched along. Lo and behold the wonder!- the wonder of an empty and dusty courtyard. All the excitement had died down within myself. Alright, it might not be as bad as I had described. There were guards lining the stone walkway on which we stepped on. They wore red uniforms and black mesh hats held together by a thick string studded with wooden beads of different colors.

I suppose I am an observant lass or perhaps, I  have excellent senses. I can feel their eyes on our little party and unfortunately, I am not one to back down on a game of intimidation if that is what they plan. I looked at one of the guards on my side and his eyes were focused- on. my. s. I am positive. What felt worse was that all the other guards on my side whom we have not passed looked like they were preparing their eyes and s for a feast. Absolutely disgusting. It is not my doing that French clothing is quite revealing. 

"Mother, they are staring at my s," I whispered to my mother on my right.

"They, too, mine," she sighed. "It is, perhaps, a cultural trend?"

"Such ersion defiles any culture," I sighed back, trying to release the discomfort in breathing.

"Clothing here is very conservative. I feel the men are deprived, especially those who try to maintain a noble face," my father, who was in front of my mother and I, said as he looked at one of the guards on the right begrudgingly.

The three of us reached the end of the walkway. Several men and women, all dressed in the same color motif as the buildings and guards (except that their clothes are visibly more high quality), came to greet us. All of them had similar features: slanted eyes, flatter noses and thinner lips than ours. The men were more yellow while the women were more white. They each bowed first before shaking our hands. My father had warned me to always bow back. Whenever someone did, I held the length of my gown with my left hand, raised it slightly, of course, and shifted my left foot to the back of my right and pointed my toes- the way we French do. My father looked at me with mad eyes and I was, once again, completely clueless so I continued on with my business. There was this old man, this middle-aged woman, several other middle-aged men et. al. I simply could not keep up with their names because I could not understand which syllables were the actual names and which were the 'nice to meet you's. Then the old man spoke up in what, to me, registered as gibberish, except for when he mentioned my father's name. I realize he was both directing to the erted guards and to the regal men at a shaded area up front that we had arrived. 

My father whispered, "When I said 'bow', I mean to say bow like them."

"Next time, specify, father, specify," I lightly nodded.

My father shifted his full attention when the man in the shade wearing a rich red robe stood up from his seat. 

"Emperor, it is an honor to finally meet you. I am General Jacques Alexandre Honore de Montailles." My father apparently knew how to speak gibberish, too. "This is my wife," he motioned to mother, "Josette Marie Elizabeth, whom you have made the crowned prince's new foreign languages teacher." Father motioned me to step forward. "And this is my lovely daughter, Anna Danielle Sabine." My parents bowed and I did not receive the cue (I, unfortunately, never did) so I kissed the synchroneity good bye and bowed late.

The red-robed man supposedly wanted us to join him for tea. While we walked towards the shaded balcony, my father laid down the facts. "The man at the center seat is the emperor. The two boys who sit behind him are his sons. The crowned prince is just four years older than you are, Anna." 

I disliked the way father seemed so positive about all this- even telling me that I could be friends with the prince, just so I could perhaps learn to love this place. He received a letter from some empire far, far away from Europe a year ago, asking him to take the position of a war adviser for the empire and a strategy teacher for the crowned prince. The letter was also much convenient for it included a teaching position for my mother as well. They changed the course of their lives. I admit it was a smart choice (believe me, all the other retirement options seemed unbelievably plain). The saddest and most horribly irritating part of all this, I am not supposed to retire. I am a teenager- all ripe and fresh. The dawn is just upon me. Yet, I am now here, included in a retirement plan. 

We reached the balcony, bowed and shook hands again.

"WELCOME TO THE EMPIRE OF JOSEON," the emperor bellowed in slurred English, like he had only learned the phrase for this moment. The emperor was friendly to us, genuinely so, which is quite mesmerizing. His thin but dark black beard made him look older than I suppose he was. The younger prince was perhaps sixteen years of age. He did not bother bat us an eye for he was practicing his calligraphy of gibberish. Very soon, the situation had ended with my father in deep conversation with the emperor, my mother perfectly pretending to be fascinated with the younger prince's calligraphy and me staring into the courtyard.

"Would you like a tour of the palace," a deep voice asked. The accent was not French, nor English. I looked up and found the crowned prince looking back at me. My parents did not seem to notice as they were slightly far away.

"I am quite positive that you have someone else hired for touring us around," I responded. The prince frowned and looked back at his tea.

"However, I suppose I do need to see this place from your point of view." Now, it is not the fact rejecting a future emperor might get me murdered that made me change my mind. It was the fact that the prince was .....beautiful, graceful, elegant, royal, but in all sense, a man. Just as swiftly as he had frowned earlier, he now smiled back at me. Another adjective to what the prince was: beaming. He stood and informed his father in gibberish (which I, sadly, would eventually adapt to) that he took it upon himself to show me around. I was staring at him which was, in all rights, embarrassing but all his movements were fluid but strong and again, I was in a trance. He took me by the wrist and we made our way down the stairs. By the feel of his skin on mine, his skin was soft and smooth.

I now realize that there was an abundance of dusty courtyards. Forget that. The palace was this extremely huge, dusty courtyard dotted with low-rise wooden structures. He pointed this and that with their names and told me his experiences in each one. I was happily entertained with his stories though I am certain that it is only his stories that I will remember and not the actual places. I shared some stories, too. However, a soldier's daughter like me rarely ever experiences greater adventures than what a prince experiences. 

Two women approached us to say that a luncheon will be served shortly so the prince and I made our way back.

"I apologize, by the way," he said.

I got over my initial shock and ran through possible reasons for a prince to apologize. The prince started laughing. 

"I find you amusing when you panic," his laugh died down. Was I that transparent with my thoughts? "I apologize on behalf of my guards. Your father is correct. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, like they say," he said. 

"In this instance, it is abstinence makes the men more erted," I retort. We both laugh. The prince and I were now near the banquet.

He stopped all of a sudden and said in a low, but audible voice, "It is quite big, though." 

"What is?"

I need not a response for the crowned prince was staring at the answer. My s. 

The crowned prince is erted.