Status: Has been on Hiatus due to the huge rush of uni life, but now first year is over, I'm going to do my best to give you lovelies the ending you deserve! =)
Diary of a Reluctant Ruler
Breakfast Guests
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My mother found me in the kitchen, as usual for the morning, eating a slice of toast whilst the servants bustled around me. I’d offered to help, but that wasn’t a fit occupation for a princess.
Well now, if that’s how you feel.
“Phil!” Mum cried; I readied myself for a lecture on where to eat. Sure enough, it came, “You should be eating in the dining room. How many times have I told you? And we have guests as well.”
She pulled me out of the kitchen, about to take me to the dining room, when she realised that I was still in my pajamas; silk nightdress with cotton trousers underneath. Sadly, being a princess, you don’t get to buy normal clothes.
“You were in the kitchen, in your pajamas?!” she screeched, “Go get changed now!”
I sighed, and headed up the servants staircase.
Mum was OK really. You just had to get her into a situation where there were no social implications whatsoever. This was more difficult than it sounded. Being the Queen, even if just by marriage, she hardly ever relaxed. Once upstairs I changed into a casual top and vest, and some smart jeans. Having forgotten to ask who it was that was a guest, I wasn’t too sure on what to wear.
The vest went nicely with my blonde hair, which I left down. I smiled at myself in the mirror. No makeup for me. I was a strictly no makeup person. Why?
1. If you cry it gets messed up
2. If you’re out in the rain, it gets messed up
3. It gets messed up if you simply scratch your eyelid.
4. Simply put; it gets messed up too easily.
5. Oh, and it’s itchy
When I eventually got to the royal dining hall, I saw Olly sat in place of any guest.
“Olly!” I yelled, running over and giving her a bear hug, “Mum, you could have said it was Olly! I thought it must have been the pope or something.”
Yes, we have had the pope for breakfast.
I pulled up a chair next to Olly, much to my Mom’s displeasure, and we began to catch-up. Olly had been my best friend in High School. Or should I say, Keats Academy for Young Ladies of Promise. Yeah... High School. She was the daughter of the Duke of Aramathia, and therefore worthy of my friendship. This was a good thing, because I don’t know what I’d have done without her. She was my one link to the normal world. Well... Almost normal world. It was Olly who had introduced my naive self to the realm of boys, music, and well, generally Earth.
Julie doesn’t even know where earth is.
Like you do.
It orbits the star ‘Sol’ every year, being situated two planets away from it, in the Milky Way galaxy.
Phf. I could have told you that…
I’d been fairly late, so everyone had finished breakfast by now. Mum excused herself, saying something about an interview. My younger brother Felix finished stuffing his face a little later and wandered off. Dad was away in Italy anyway, so he hadn’t been there.
“…So I’m going to College in Paris!” Olly finished, delight radiating from her.
“But that means I won’t see you for ages,” I moaned, “I’ll lose you to some cute French guy.”
“Aww... Phil, I’m sure we can find one for you too.”
“Find what?” A guy’s voice interrupted. I turned around to see a guy standing in the doorway.
“Find Phil a cute French guy,” Olly said without looking up.
Close your mouth, you look like an idiot.
But he’s Hott.
And you look stupid.
I closed my mouth sharply, trying to regain some composure. I turned to Olly, eyebrows raised.
“Oh, Phil, this is my brother James,” she leaned closer, whispering in my ear, although loud enough that he could still hear; “He’s a bit slow in the mornings.”
“I am not slow in the morning,” he said, sitting down across the table. He glared for a moment at some toast then ate it warily.
I found it a little hard to get back into the conversation we’d been having whilst James was there. He was indeed Hott. Capital H, double t. He had tousled brown hair, just brushing off his shoulders, curling slightly at the edges around his ears, the deepest brown eyes imaginable, and well… a nice torso. Not that I had much experience in looking at guys. Most of the boys my age here were snotty toe-rags who thought they were god’s gift to women, born to nobility with silver spoons in their mouths.
Olly had told me about James obviously, but in the terms of annoying older brother. I knew that he was 19, that he’d achieved really good grades, which Olly constantly had to live up to. Now it didn’t seem like such a crime.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
My mother found me in the kitchen, as usual for the morning, eating a slice of toast whilst the servants bustled around me. I’d offered to help, but that wasn’t a fit occupation for a princess.
Well now, if that’s how you feel.
“Phil!” Mum cried; I readied myself for a lecture on where to eat. Sure enough, it came, “You should be eating in the dining room. How many times have I told you? And we have guests as well.”
She pulled me out of the kitchen, about to take me to the dining room, when she realised that I was still in my pajamas; silk nightdress with cotton trousers underneath. Sadly, being a princess, you don’t get to buy normal clothes.
“You were in the kitchen, in your pajamas?!” she screeched, “Go get changed now!”
I sighed, and headed up the servants staircase.
Mum was OK really. You just had to get her into a situation where there were no social implications whatsoever. This was more difficult than it sounded. Being the Queen, even if just by marriage, she hardly ever relaxed. Once upstairs I changed into a casual top and vest, and some smart jeans. Having forgotten to ask who it was that was a guest, I wasn’t too sure on what to wear.
The vest went nicely with my blonde hair, which I left down. I smiled at myself in the mirror. No makeup for me. I was a strictly no makeup person. Why?
1. If you cry it gets messed up
2. If you’re out in the rain, it gets messed up
3. It gets messed up if you simply scratch your eyelid.
4. Simply put; it gets messed up too easily.
5. Oh, and it’s itchy
When I eventually got to the royal dining hall, I saw Olly sat in place of any guest.
“Olly!” I yelled, running over and giving her a bear hug, “Mum, you could have said it was Olly! I thought it must have been the pope or something.”
Yes, we have had the pope for breakfast.
I pulled up a chair next to Olly, much to my Mom’s displeasure, and we began to catch-up. Olly had been my best friend in High School. Or should I say, Keats Academy for Young Ladies of Promise. Yeah... High School. She was the daughter of the Duke of Aramathia, and therefore worthy of my friendship. This was a good thing, because I don’t know what I’d have done without her. She was my one link to the normal world. Well... Almost normal world. It was Olly who had introduced my naive self to the realm of boys, music, and well, generally Earth.
Julie doesn’t even know where earth is.
Like you do.
It orbits the star ‘Sol’ every year, being situated two planets away from it, in the Milky Way galaxy.
Phf. I could have told you that…
I’d been fairly late, so everyone had finished breakfast by now. Mum excused herself, saying something about an interview. My younger brother Felix finished stuffing his face a little later and wandered off. Dad was away in Italy anyway, so he hadn’t been there.
“…So I’m going to College in Paris!” Olly finished, delight radiating from her.
“But that means I won’t see you for ages,” I moaned, “I’ll lose you to some cute French guy.”
“Aww... Phil, I’m sure we can find one for you too.”
“Find what?” A guy’s voice interrupted. I turned around to see a guy standing in the doorway.
“Find Phil a cute French guy,” Olly said without looking up.
Close your mouth, you look like an idiot.
But he’s Hott.
And you look stupid.
I closed my mouth sharply, trying to regain some composure. I turned to Olly, eyebrows raised.
“Oh, Phil, this is my brother James,” she leaned closer, whispering in my ear, although loud enough that he could still hear; “He’s a bit slow in the mornings.”
“I am not slow in the morning,” he said, sitting down across the table. He glared for a moment at some toast then ate it warily.
I found it a little hard to get back into the conversation we’d been having whilst James was there. He was indeed Hott. Capital H, double t. He had tousled brown hair, just brushing off his shoulders, curling slightly at the edges around his ears, the deepest brown eyes imaginable, and well… a nice torso. Not that I had much experience in looking at guys. Most of the boys my age here were snotty toe-rags who thought they were god’s gift to women, born to nobility with silver spoons in their mouths.
Olly had told me about James obviously, but in the terms of annoying older brother. I knew that he was 19, that he’d achieved really good grades, which Olly constantly had to live up to. Now it didn’t seem like such a crime.
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