Diary of a Reluctant Ruler

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“We’ll follow the ordinary riding path then,” I said, heading off down the road. James followed me, and the silence recovered itself. I sighed.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, leading his horse to trot on the grass beside the road.

“Nothing,” I answered, focusing on the rhythm of the horse, moving up and down in time.

“Sure.”

“Even if there was something, I’d be unlikely to tell you.”

“Oh.”

James looked a little bit hurt.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” I hastened to add, “It’s just...”

Drop the spade and get out of the hole, Phil.

We’re not in a hole...

Lord help me.

“You’re a princess,” James answered for me, “You can’t complain.”

“You hit the nail on the head,” I sighed again, “Want to canter?”

“Sure.”

Why is he hitting nails whilst riding a horse?

It’s an expression, you maggot.

Ew! Where?!

We galloped down the road, passing the only farmhouse on the way to the coast. I caught a glimpse of someone at the window, their face too dim to make out. I dimly hoped it wasn’t Farmer Michael, as he tended to call the press as soon as he saw any member of the royal family. It was the hazard of riding to the coast. I crossed my fingers over the reins.

After maybe 15 minutes of riding, some cantering, but mostly walking, as James wanted to see the country and trotting was uncomfortable to keep going for too long, we saw the sea ahead. I cantered the last remaining distance, then slowed to a walk in order to lead Freya down the dunes. James did likewise, following a horse-breadth behind me.

“Wow,” he gasped, as the headland came into view. I smiled, remembering the first time I had seen it. The high rugged cliffs, with the tiny rabble of houses - a fishing town- perched perilously on top, was indeed breathtaking.

“That’s Little Orburrow,” I said, pointing. I heard the sound of a car coming towards us.

“Shall we?” I asked, pointing down the beach towards the cliffs and remounting.

“We shall,” he said, laughing, “I’d offer you my arm, only it’s a little difficult on a horse!”

“Never mind,” I said, and urged my horse into a gallop.

Aw... I wanna hold his arm...

Please someone, kill me now.

We splashed through the waves, not going too far out. Something flashed a little further up the dunes. I looked up, and saw a tourist, his tropical shorts cutting through the calm mood with a blaring statement.

“Tourist, 9 o’clock,” I whispered to James.

“Where?” He asked, confused.

“Up on the hill.”

Another flash showed James the man. We kept going. In a minute it seemed that 5 people had joined him, pointing.

“It’s not like I’m front page news...” I said, “I always come riding here.”

“Maybe it’s because of me,” James sat up straight on his horse, striking a pose. I snorted at him.

“They’ll have that on camera now,” I said, stifling my laughter.

“And they can plaster it all over the Internet for all I care. But still, it might be because of me.”

“But you’re just a duke’s son,” I tried not to sound bigheaded.

“Oh sure, they won’t now who I am, but they‘ve probably jumped to the conclusion that you’re going out with me or... Something.”

“But we’re not,” I stated, stupidly.

“No.”

There was an awkward silence for a moment, broken when James struck another pose. His foot came loose out of his stirrup, and he slid off his horse, landing in the shallow water. I burst out laughing.

“Help! I’m drowning!” He cried, pretending to sink into the foot high water.

“Quick!” I shouted in mock panic, “Grab my hand!”

He pulled me in, laughing loudly. Several more flashes erupted from the hillside. I only giggled, trying to dunk his head under the water, failing miserably.

I told you, I don’t giggle!

Wouldn’t you do just anything for him...

No, I really wouldn’t.

Just look into those big brown eyes and refuse him...

Fine. Refused. There, see?

You’re no fun.

“Come on,” James held out a hand and brought me to my feet. His touch felt warm, wet from the sea, and somehow electric. I shivered, the water dripping off my thin jersey. James thrust his riding jacket in my face.

“What?”

“You’re cold.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Take it, Phil, you’re cold.”

“I’m fine.”

“Phil, your lips are going blue. You’re cold.”

He draped the coat round my shoulders, his fingers brushing my collar bone as he did up the top button to stop it from slipping. I glanced up at him, his head a little higher than mine, only a step away. There was another flash from somewhere on the hill, ruining the moment, and making me blink like a moron.

Damn it.

See, you do like him!

I just don’t want him to think I’m an idiot, that’s all.

We rode along the beach for a little while, then off into the dunes and onto a separate road back. James’s coat smelt vaguely of straw, with the usual horsy smell to go with it, and the slight tint of something deeper, richer. I nestled my head deeper into it, realising that I was cold.

As we rounded the bend in the road, we hit the paparazzi. I groaned mentally and physically. James looked shocked at their immediate appearance. I immediately tried to turn around and go back the way we had come, but reporters surged forward, cameras flashing blindingly. Next to me, Falcon reared in fright as the lights blinded him. I leaned over quickly, taking the reins from James’s surprised grasp, who had managed to stay on the saddle. I whispered calmly into Falcon’s ear, soothing him.

“Princess Meredith!”

“Who’s this you’re with?”

“Are you related?”

“Going out?”

“Secretly engaged?”

“Secretly married?-”

“Have you done it?!”

Aaagh!

This day just gets better and better...

I held up a hand, trying to say something, but the questions just kept flooding in.

“Do the King and Queen know?-”

“Was it an arranged marriage?”

“When’s the wedding?”

“What colour are you wearing?-”

“Ladies, gentlemen, please!” The last, was to my surprise, James. The reporters shushed immediately, their notepads and pencils bristling.

“Are you pregnant?” Shouted someone at the back. I burst out laughing, unable to control it.

“Meredith is not pregnant, no,” James stated, “Neither are we going out, engaged, married or at all related, secretly or not secretly.”

He smiled reassuringly at me, and I smiled back.

“We are simply friends,” he said finally, before urging his horse forward, glancing back at me. Freya followed him, and the sea of reporters began to part reluctantly. Something in his glance made me question his last statement. Did I want to be more than friends? Did he?