Diary of a Reluctant Ruler

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Friday was fairly boring; I had Etiquette with Grandma, we went over the family tree and Lorainya’s royal family, she informed me that they were arriving the next day, and then Marie made me go over my French. We finished early, so I had some time free before dinner.

Having finished my trashy romance, (both hero and heroine falling in love after a riotous series of arguments and living happily ever after), I was left without a book to read, so I went to the library.

Why do I read those dreadful books in the first place?

They’re not dreadful!

They most certainly are- same plot again and again, love against impossible odds…

It’s romantic.

It’s barmy.

I pushed aside the rolling bookcase which housed the old, expensive classics which the public saw when they did the tour, and scanned the shelves of new books. Nothing caught my eye, so I went over them again. Still nothing… I sat down on the floor with a sigh.

“Here, try this,” James said behind me.

A book hovered in front of my face.

“Oh,” I cried, spinning round on the floorboards.

James helped me up, his touch leaving a flush of blood in my right hand. He passed me the book, and I looked thoughtfully at it.

“the Wind Singer by William Nicholson,” I read.

Now there’s some good bantha-fodder.

Bantha-fodder?

Star Wars reference, my young padawan.

Geek.

Twerp.

Geek.

Nithling.

Geek.

Hah, limited vocabulary girl.

Shush, James is speaking!

Yes your majesty.

“It’s one of my favourites,” James said, “Trilogy though.”

“Thanks,” I said, looking up at him.

His eyes rested on mine for a moment, then he turned back to the armchair he’d been sitting in. I sat down in the opposite chair, crossing my legs underneath me. I opened the book, stopped, scanned the blurb, then started again;

At the time when the strangers came, the Manth people were still living in the low mat-walled shelters that they had carried with them in their hunting days. The domed huts were clustered around the salt mine that was to become the source of their wealth. This was long before they had built the great city that stands above the salt caverns today. One high summer afternoon, a band of travellers came striding out of the desert plains, and made camp nearby. They wore their hair long and loose, men and women alike, and moved slowly and spoke quietly, when they spoke at all. They traded a little with the Manth, buying bread and meat and salt, paying with small silver ornaments they themselves had made. They caused no trouble, but their near presence was somehow uncomfortable. Who were they? Where had they come from? Where were they going? Direct questions produced no answers: only a smile, a shrug, a shake of the head…

I drifted off into the world of the book, temporarily oblivious to the goings-on of reality. All that filled my head was the Manth, Kestril, Mumpo and Bow.

These guys have the awesomest names…

“Phil?” a voice from faraway asked, “Phil!”

“Eh?” I mumbled, my senses blurry and confused.

“Sorry,” James said.

He was crouched down next to my chair, his face little more than an inch from mine, his hand gently on my shoulder from shaking me. My senses suddenly went into overdrive at the proximity alert. I blushed double at being caught asleep and the lack of distance between us.

James smiled at the blush and stood up, the distance widening to the social norm.

“What’s going on?” I asked, stretching casually in order to cover up my disappointment for the sudden distance.

My book fell off my lap onto the floor from the movement and I leaned to get it. James was faster, and took my outstretched hand in his, helping me out of the chair, which had swallowed me gradually as I’d slept.

“It’s dinner time,” James explained, my hand still in his.

“I slept that long?” I cried, looking around for a non-existent clock.

“Yup,” James said.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” I asked.

“You looked far too peaceful,” James replied, his head tilted to one side as he watched me. I stuck my tongue out at him. He let go of my hand gently to give me the book he’d picked up from the floor, and we walked together downstairs. We were early, though Felix was sitting at the head talking to Dad about his day.

“Hi darling,” Dad said as we came in, “James, thanks for taking Felix out.”

“It was nothing Sir,” James replied, with a brief nod.

“Oh, just call me Edward.”

“Ok,” James said, smiling.

Dinner was thankfully not spaghetti. The onion and carrot Madeleine had been chopping earlier had been put into a casserole, with spicy chorizo sausage, potato, celery… a huge list of assorted vegetables. I skipped pudding, having had an extra helping of first.

“So where are you going to University?” I asked James.

“The Academy of Dramatic Arts,” he replied through a spoonful of pie.

“Studying?”

“Music,” he said.

“Wow,” I sighed.

“I guess,” he laughed, “I’m amazed they accepted me.”

“Why?”

“Because my subjects are mainly academical. I took it as a leisurely activity, and it’s ended up running my life,” he explained.

I laughed, “So what do you plan on doing as a career?”

“Teach, I guess,” he said, his face falling as I asked.

“But that’s not the dream?” I guessed.

“No.”

I waited a moment to see if he would tell me what was, but he took another mouthful of apple pie instead. I smiled as I thought about the stomach-saying again; The way to a man is through his stomach.

“So what are you doing this year?”

“Doing a further year of Standards before I leave school supposedly.”

“What in?”

“English Literature, Geography, Economics and Psychology,” I recited, “Plus I’m taking exams in my languages; French, Spanish, German and Mandarin.”

“That’s a lot,” James exclaimed, his eyes wide.

“I get extra tutoring,” I smiled.

“You’d hope so,” James answered, “How many languages do you know?”

“Well, I’m bilingual obviously, French and English. Then I’ve been speaking German fluently for some time, though some phrases never cease to evade me. Started learning Mandarin last year. I can do British Sign Language as well.”

“I’m in awe of you,” James said.

I smiled at his sincerity.

“Please don’t be,” I requested, “I prefer it when people treat me normally.”

“I’ll try.”

“Oh!” I said, “I forgot Pig-Latin.”

“You know Pig-Latin?”

“Started learning it the other week, yes.”

“Iway ovelay Igpay-Atinlay!”
I love Pig-Latin!

“Uoyay peaksay itway?!”
You speak it?

“Esyay!”
Yes!

“I think I love you,” I thought outloud.

“Hatway?”
What?

“Nothing,” I smiled, blushing.