Diary of a Reluctant Ruler

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“Meredith,” Grandma nodded as I entered the room. I curtsied gingerly on my dodgy ankle, “The table is ready for you to set, I’ll be next door when you’re finished.”

“Yes Madame.”

I picked up the menu, reading the fictional dishes, and taking the plates from the sideboard. Shields at 12 o’clock... You know, I should really have some kind of martial arts training. In case I ever get taken hostage. Or for persistent journalists, so that I don’t have to dive into the flower beds.

Then I’d be able to get all kick-ass on them...

I think violence is vulgar.

Vulgar? Did you swallow a dictionary or something?

No, why? Does that improve your vocabubblery?

I set the table with plenty of time to spare, so I went over the settings and menu several times before I went to find Grandmother. She was on the phone in the next room, so she ushered me to a seat when she saw me. I sat down, keeping as straight backed as possible. She’d be watching me even now to make sure I was sitting possible. I didn’t tuck my legs together due to my ankle.

“Yes, thank you. No, I’m aware of that. Ok, I’ll see to it in the morning.”

Grandma put the phone down and turned to me.

“I’ve just been organising some extra security. After what happened yesterday evening, I think we need someone there just in case.”

I nodded, and followed as Grandma went to check my table. I sincerely hoped it was right, I didn’t want to do this again.

“Hmmm... I’m not sure about the centrepiece, but otherwise I can’t fault it. We can move on to something else.”

Wahoo!!!

*does happy dance*

Look away now, people.

Grandma disappeared into her own room, coming back out minutes later with some rolls of paper. We went back into her sitting room, and she motioned for me to sit.

“Lineage,” She announced, as if it were something of great importance, “You are going to learn your family history.”

“Madame, I have already traced our lineage back 300 years in history lessons.”

“But you haven't studied the modern family have you?”

“No, Madame.”

“Well, then. Can you tell me how you are related to Lord Stephens?”

“He’s my uncle once removed, is he not?”

“No, you would refer to him as your Father’s cousin. I want you to memorise these links, the names of children, their ages, and a few key interests for each person.”

“May I ask why Madame?”

“It will enable you to make conversation. There is also a file here on some of the people you may meet over the next few years. Memorise these facts as well.”

“Yes Madame,” I answered.

Once she had left the room I sighed. This was going to be hell.

An hour later, and my head hurt so much, I wondered whether it had cracked open from the strain. Some of the facts seemed to have been absorbed though, because I could tell you that Lord Stephens was married to Lady Elizabeth, and that they had a son Francis who was my age, and a daughter, Georgiana. They lived in the south and had 2 dogs and lots of horses.

Grandma seemed fairly satisfied when she tested me, leaving me to memorise the rest of the text throughout the week. I decided I had nothing better to do, so I took the papers to the library, and did some more. Once again the royal family of Lorainya popped up. I guess Grandma had their visit as foremost in her mind at the moment.

I didn’t realise Prince Philippe had an older brother and a younger sister.

Well, just because you’ve never seen them before, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

“Great Uncle William, married Marylin, had Paul, Carol, Eve and Theresa,” I chanted, hitting myself repeatedly on the head with the paper. I doubted that it helped, “Great Uncle William, married Eve, had Mary, Peter, Claire and Eraser…”

Thump, thump, thump, went the paper against my head.

“Hey!” A hand grabbed the paper to stop me from hitting my head again, “Your brain cells are already scarce.”

Ahem! What’s that supposed to mean?

“Thanks James,” I said, slumping back into the couch.

“This looks solid,” he replied, peering at the family tree.

“That’s grandma for you.”

“Hmmm... You know what?”

“What?”

“I think you need a break.”

“Oh, if only.”

“Well, it’s half nine now, so we could do something.”

“Like what? I’m hardly mobile. My ankle’s swollen up from showing Olly the palace.”

“Hmmm... Something stationary then.” He wrinkled his nose whilst he thought. It looked cute. “Have you got any board games?”

“Sure, there's loads on that shelf.”

James went over to have a look.

“Any favourites?” he asked.

“Not really. Don’t pick chess or chequers though.... I’m rubbish. For that matter, don’t pick anything that needs tactical skill.”

“That narrows it down a bit. How about Pictionary?”

“Yeah ok.”

James came back with the board, dragged a table over for it.

“Mademoiselle, would you like to be red, black, blue or yellow?”

“Yellow please,” I answered, and, for the first time that summer, the burdens of being royal seemed to lift off my shoulders and disappear.

“Matches your golden tresses,” he commented, placing the counter at the start, “And I shall be blue.”

“Blue... Matches...” I bit my lip, trying to see anything blue about him. Finally I surrendered, “You’re not at all blue. Not even your socks.”

“My boxers are blue actually,” he said thoughtfully, placing his counter next to mine on the board.

“That’s... Um...” I struggled to comment. James laughed at my pained expression.

“Not quite as poetic?”

“Not at all poetic.”

“Roses are red, my pants are blue... I can’t think of another line. You start,” he pointed at the board.

“We start on the yellow category, right?”

“I think so.”

“Ok...” I took a card from the case, and looked at the yellow. ‘Cow’, well, that should be easy. James passed me a pad and pencil, and flipped the timer. I began to sketch, trying not to scribble.

“Um... Horse, no... Head? Oh, cow!”

“Yay!” I rolled the dice.

“Nicely done,” James said when it stopped on 1. I took another card. 'Omelette.'

“Oh, lord, how am I supposed to do that?”

I flicked the timer myself.

“Eh?” James puzzled at the alien blob, “Blob?... Squidge?... What is that!? Alien goo...”

“Times gone,” I remarked, scribbling out my blob.

“What was it?”

“An Omelette.”

“Right...”

James grabbed a card, and tore my page off the pad. He flipped the timer and began to draw.

“A place... Um, looks like Adria. Adria? Oh, hang on, landscape? Hills! No, er... Country?”

“Got it,” James rolled a five, “You know, I think some people are just naturally talented.”

He looked smug as the dice stopped on a six.

“What, at rolling dice?” I laughed, and handed him the next card, looking the other way so I wouldn’t see it. I don’t know how long it took us to get to the end of the board, but James won by at least a mile.