She stared into dead eyes. There was gunfire in the distance, occasional screams mixed in, but it was all just background noise to her, and she paid no attention. She didn't even notice the blood trickling down the side of her face from where a bullet had grazed her head. All she could see were her mother's eyes. They'd always sparkled so. Trella María Rodriguez de Lucia had always been a woman full of life, of vitality. So many things had shown from her mother's eyes over the course of her lifetime: warmth, love, affection, amusement, strength... This... nothing, this horrible blankness, was unbearable. But she couldn't look away. It was foolish, she knew it was, but some irrational part of her hoped that if she kept looking, there might be a sign that her mamá wasn't really gone.
She choked back a bitter laugh. No, of course her mother wouldn't want to be dead. She wouldn't want her country to be in the middle of a bloody, violent coup. She wouldn't want to know that her family was being hunted down by a vicious and greedy general to eliminate any claims to the throne.
She wouldn't want to leave me.
She was jerked back to reality by a hand on her arm. "Princess!" Dimly, she realized that this wasn't the first time the woman had tried to get her attention. "We have to get you out of here!" "Mi madre..." she whispered, only then noting the tears that were streaking down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry," the woman said sympathetically. Thankfully, there was no pity in her gaze or her voice. Sadness, sympathy... Those the princess could handle. Pity, though, she'd never reacted well to. "All I can do for her is make sure you get out of here safely, so that's what I'm going to do." Yes... That was what she'd want, wasn't it? The princess nodded, and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Her once pristine blue dress was torn in spots and filthy, but she didn't notice. She did finally notice, however, that she was in her father's office. Her mother had brought her up there to hide when the shooting started, but one of the enemy soldiers had gotten a few shots off before they'd locked themselves in... She didn't look at her mother again. She couldn't. Now that she was out of the dissociative state she'd slipped into upon realizing that her mother had stopped breathing, she knew looking back would break her. She welcomed the feelings of numbness that slipped over her as the woman lead her out into the hall. She looked down at the dead soldier near the door, recognizing him as the one who'd killed her mother, and felt... nothing. His death wouldn't bring her mother back, or any of the rest of her family. She inhaled sharply and staggered as it finally hit her. She was alone. "I'm sorry," the woman said again, as if able to tell that she'd just realized that she was the only member of her family left alive. Her parents, brothers, sister... She didn't know about her extended family, but she wasn't holding out much hope. Her stomach lurched as she realized what that meant. If Costa Paraíso survived this coup intact, she would be the queen. "Dios mío..." she whispered, both from that thought and the sight of another body up ahead. She was the youngest, the baby of the family. Pedro had been the eldest, and a boy, so naturally he had been expected to take over for their father. That had been just fine with her, truthfully. Why anyone would want that kind of crushing responsibility was something she had never been able to understand. She straightened. So be it, then. If she was to be queen, she was to be queen. Miranda Paloma Lucia Rodriguez was not the kind of girl who backed down from a challenge. Her life belonged to Costa Paraíso, now. "Who are you?" she asked the woman softly. She needed to get her bearings, to try and get a grasp on the situation, and this seemed like as good a place as any to start. All she really knew about the woman in the gray business suit was that her mother had said she could be trusted. That was enough to make Miranda go with her, but she wanted to know more. "Captain Elena Montez, of the Princess Protection Program. Your mother contacted us when she became aware of the concerns regarding General Moreno." "The P-" An explosive laugh escaped her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle any sound as she tried to control herself. If she started laughing now, she didn't think she'd be able to stop, and as tempting as having hysterics sounded, she knew it wouldn't help anything. Captain Montez's lips quirked briefly. "Don't look at me, I didn't come up with the name." She sobered quickly as they reached a corner, and she gently pushed the princess up against the wall. Signaling her to stay quiet, she ducked low and peered cautiously around the corner. A slight relaxation of the tension in her body said that there was no one there. Miranda hadn't given much thought to the gun in her hand, and wasn't sure she liked the look of it. It did explain the dead soldier outside her father's office, though. "I'm just sorry I couldn't get here sooner." "Why couldn't you?" She was aware of the harsh note of accusation in her voice, but couldn't do anything about it. Her family was dead. She kept trying to push the thought aside for the moment, but it wouldn't be moved. Why couldn't this Captain Montez save her brothers or her sister, too? "General Moreno moved much sooner then your parents expected. He wants the throne, so his first concern was making sure there was no one left who could challenge his claim." Well, the woman wasn't talking down to her or acting like she thought that just because she was a princess, she didn't know anything. She could appreciate that. She probably would, too, once they were talking about something other then her dead family. "Where are we going?" "There's a helicopter waiting for us," Montez replied, maintaining a wary attention on their surroundings. "With all the chaos going on, we should be able to sneak out the back and get to it before anyone figures out you're not here anymore. Hold up a moment." They were at another corner. "I doubt he left the stairs unguarded." She was right. Silently hushing the princess, she crept forward, inching up to the corner and leveling her gun at something the girl couldn't see. She fired off three shots, and it was far quieter then Miranda had expected, much more so then any of the other guns she'd heard fired that day. Evidently the reason the barrel seemed so misshapen to her was because it dampened the sound of the gun, in some way. It gave her hope that they might just make it out of there in one piece. It also helped her ignore the small part of her in the back of her mind that had just given up and started screaming. "Come on, we've got to get moving," Montez told her in a low, urgent tone. "They're going to notice some of their people aren't answering, soon." The princess followed her to the stairs, doing her best not to notice the two dead bodies, or the blood spreading out on the marble floor. The screaming in her head got louder. Then they ran. Down the stairs - she'd never really noticed how many stairs there were in the palace - out the back door, and across the lawn, out into the night. They'd almost gotten to the hedges when someone spotted them and, shouting an alarm, opened fire. Surprisingly, the bullets didn't whine as they went past. They sounded more like insects zooming by then anything else, and Miranda almost gave into an urge to swat at them before she realized what they were. Montez fired off a few shots behind them, and the gunfire paused long enough for them to duck out of sight. She had no idea if her protector had hit the gunman or not, but it didn't really matter. Even if she had, there were more where he came from. Many more. Too many. She couldn't understand how he'd gotten so many to join him. Just by the promise of money? She couldn't imagine what else it could be. Her father was- had been much beloved of the people. 'A king serves his country, mija, not the other way around - that is the first duty of a ruler,' he'd been fond of telling her. And he'd more then lived up to that. He'd been friend, father, brother, and protector. She had no idea how she would do the same, but she was determined to try her best. Her people deserved no less from her. They kept running. A black helicopter was waiting for them in a clearing. Montez helped her aboard before climbing in herself, and she'd barely cleared the doorway before they began to lift off. Miranda stared out the window, watching her home shrink from sight. The helicopter flew off, invisible against the cloud-covered sky.
She groaned and fought the urge to bury her head under her pillow.
She hated that dream. Absolutely, unconditionally, hated it. She hadn't had it in a while, and had almost deluded herself into thinking it wouldn't come again.
Of course it did, though. It always did, every time they moved.
She really didn't want to get out of bed. On the other hand, she didn't want to fall back asleep again, and dream further about that night. So she forced herself into motion, shutting off her alarm before it could sound and looking around her new bedroom.
She liked this one, she decided as she got up to go take a shower. It was somewhat bigger then the last - though still smaller then the one she'd grown up in - and the large windows made it nicely illuminated. The balcolny was nice, too - it reminded her of home, but not so much that it upset her.
The bathroom was never as big as she'd like it to be, though. And they were all supposed to be suited for a family? She shuddered to think of what the bathrooms in small apartments looked like.
She was tempted to actually indulge herself in a bath... but no, she didn't have that kind of time. Showering wasn't exactly unpleasant - and taking care of her grooming habits herself was surprisingly gratifying - but baths were reserved for when she really wanted to pamper herself. She sighed quietly and hurried through her shower, quickly drying herself and hurrying back to her room to get dressed.
The mostly desert landscape of New Mexico made her miss Costa Paraíso fiercely, but she did like what she'd seen of Albuquerque so far. They lived more in a suburb then the city itself, of course, but that was just as well. Cities might offer more anonymity, but smaller town people tended to be nicer, and her current situation was definitely closer to the latter.
And given how many times she'd been moved around, she'd had ample opportunity to sample both, so she knew which one she liked better.
Besides, smaller community meant fewer strangers, which meant fewer chances of someone coming along and kidnapping her, which made her "mother" happy.
As if summoned by the thought, she heard Elena yell from downstairs, "Gabriella! Breakfast!"
"Be down in a minute!" she yelled back. Her royal instructors would have cringed at her grammar, but she'd forced herself to adapt her syntax to blend in with her new surroundings. She still occasionally lapsed into Spanish, but people generally seemed to shrug that off.
Despite her words, she lingered in front of her mirror. She didn't want to go downstairs. Not that she wasn't hungry - far from it, in fact - she just didn't want the day to start, and going downstairs would mean that it had.
She was being childish, and she knew it. But she did not like starting at a new school. Granted, she'd been promised that she'd be able to stay at this one until graduation, but, frankly, she would believe that one when it happened. Public school had been a rather unpleasant shock at first, but she'd gotten used to it.
More or less.
She sighed, knowing she had no choice. There was only so long she could put something off before her sense of responsibility took over. It was how she'd been raised, and Mir- "No," she told her reflection, quietly but firmly. "Gabriella. You're Gabriella Montez." She didn't usually have to remind herself of that much these days, which was another reason she hated the dreams.
Shaking her head, she grabbed her book bag and headed downstairs.
The PPP had been thorough, she had to admit. Mere hours after her rescue, a cover story had been devised, a paper trail had been made, she'd been given a makeover, and by the next day she was settled in with her new 'mother', Elena Montez. They didn't look much alike, but no one ever questioned that they were mother and daughter. And the agent herself had been unfailingly patient with the young princess as she struggled to acclimate herself to living in the United States. She was so convincing as a single mother working hard to raise her daughter that Gabriella had to wonder if maybe, sometimes, she didn't actually start believing it herself.
The thought made her feel weirdly guilty. She adored Elena, she truly did. But thinking of the woman as her mother, even in an adopted sense, made her remember her real mother. It had taken some practice just to get comfortable calling her "Mom" in public. Thankfully, she didn't insist Gabriella call her that in private as well, recognizing that that would just be too much for her. It had taken almost two weeks for her to stop calling her Captain Montez.
Breakfast turned out to be french toast, which made her smile. For most of her first year in America, she'd been frequently discovering new foods. They weren't all good - that flan she'd tried had been norrible, and she hadn't been able to get the taste out of her mouth for a week - but they were far outweighed by the good. In terms of breakfast, french toast was one of her favorites. Clearly, Elena had guessed she might need a little comfort food that morning. Tellingly, she didn't ask how Gabriella had slept.
Conversation stayed light - mainly consisting of Gabriella inquiring into whatever cover job the PPP had set Elena up with this time - as Gabriella tried not to think too much about the day ahead of her. Still, though, she felt anxious, as she had for most of the move to Albuquerque. The only time she'd felt relaxed was...
She smiled to herself. New Year's Eve.
Not that there hadn't been stress there, too. Skiing wasn't exactly something she'd ever had a chance to try before, and it had proven to be fun enough, but all she'd wanted was to curl up somewhere with a good book, and occasionally watch the people. She hadn't exactly wanted to go to that "teen party", but playing the role of Gabriella left her with little choice. She was a princess, though, so she was accustomed to doing things to please others. At least she'd been able to bring her book with her.
Going up on stage, though...
Even now, she almost shuddered, thinking of all the people in the crowd. It wasn't that she was unused to being the object of attention - far from it - but anyone could have been in that crowd. She'd known the chances that there was a kidnapper or an assassin lurking around were almost certainly nil, but she simply hadn't been able to calm herself down enough to do what was expected of her.
Not until he started to sing.
She smiled again as she ate another carefully cut forkful of french toast. Troy. He'd obviously been uncomfortable to be up there, as well, but he'd still managed to start to sing. How could she have done any less? And... Well, it had been fun. Truthfully, she'd always loved to sing, and being able to do so again, and to do it without any royal expectations of propriety, had been a new and exciting sensation.
Of course, she couldn't exactly explain any of that, so she'd quickly invented a story about singing in church choir and fainting during an attempted solo. She felt bad about the deception, but it had been for his own good. The less he knew about anything hinting at her true identity, the safer he'd be.
Besides, it wasn't like she expected to run into him again any time soon. Despite what he'd said, he hadn't called her in the week since she'd slipped away at New Year's, and she had half-convinced herself that it was her fault for behaving so rudely.
She resisted the urge to prolong her breakfast unnecessarily. She spent most of the drive to her new school - the unimaginatively named East High; made all the worse knowing there was a West High on the other side of town - making sure she had her cover story straight, going over any and every bit of slang that she'd picked up in hew few years in America, studying a map of the school to make sure she knew where all potential exits were, and uselessly trying to convince her churning stomach that she was in no real danger, so it could kindly keep her breakfast where it belonged.
It was the same thing she did with every new school.
Complaining about her situation wasn't something that a princess did, but being Gabriella meant that she had to at least make a token effort. Which she did, as she and her mother accompanied the principal down the hall. "Mom, my stomach..."
"...is always nervous on the first day at a new school," Elena finished, knowing her role perfectly, as well. "You'll do great. You always do."
Gabriella managed not to grimace at that. Barely.
Elena must have seen some flicker in her eyes, though, because she added, "And I made my company promise that I can't be transferred again until you graduate."
She wanted to ask how she'd done so, but knew that even if they'd been alone and she'd been able to speak freely, she probably wouldn't have gotten an answer. If there was one thing Elena didn't talk much about, it was her work with the PPP.
"I reviewed your impressive transcripts," Principal Matsui informed her as he handed over a folder with information he didn't know she already had, such as her class schedule and a map of the school, among other things. "I'm sure your light will shine very brightly here at East High."
He was being so sincere, she couldn't even bring herself to be upset with him. Instead, she turned to Elena. "I don't want to be the school's freaky genius girl again." That had been why she'd had to leave her last school, and they both knew it: she'd drawn far too much attention.
Elena raised her hands and gently laid them along her jawline in a comforting gesture so reminiscent of something her mother would have done that she felt a physical pain in her chest. "Just be Gabriella," Elena told her, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead.
As if it were so easy, she thought sadly. And even if she took the words to mean "Just do what you want, and forget about what everyone else thinks", that would still go against everything she'd been raised believing.
She allowed the principal to lead her off, managing only one last nervous look behind her. She had to find her locker, then her homeroom. She would just be a normal girl here, she told herself. A quiet voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she'd made that decision at other schools, and it never really worked, but she ignored it. She would be a normal, typical, not-at-all-a-princess teenage girl.
Because, really, what was there at this school to tempt her to do otherwise?