Diary of a Reluctant Ruler

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I was moping.

Major time.

It was the first day after the Ball, and I couldn’t stand the fact that I was still in love with James, that he was confusingly indifferent at times, and then sentimentally close the next. Last night had my insides attempting to play Twister. I was angry most of all. Angry at myself, angry at Cecilia, angry at James, angry at the Monarchy… the list went on for a while.

“What you need is something to get rid of all this pent-up frustration,” Jade told me.

“And what would you prescribe?” I asked through gritted teeth, still attempting to write a speech for the opening of a new hospital wing in Rous.

Stupid people without feet…

Er, let’s keep it PC shall we?

Um, stupid people lacking certain limbs?

It’ll do.

“I would prescribe hitting something hard,” she replied, grinning, “Always works for me.”

“I tried hitting the desk,” I confessed, “It just hurt.”

Jade hummed critically, “Come on!”

Without further ado she dragged me away from the speech, out of my room and the family wing, past the main halls and into the servants’ wing. I don’t think I’d ever been here before… it was surprisingly smaller than the rest of the palace – ceilings lower, doors and windows smaller… a little claustrophobic.

“Voila,” Jade said, opening a door for me.

Behind it lay a medium sized room, with a bed and chest of drawers in one corner, and then a plain concrete floor, without a rug or carpet. It was a little bare, to say the least.

“My room,” Jade declared happily.

“Why so much empty space?” I asked, confused.

“So I can practise kicking the crap out of people,” she replied.

I sniffed as she went over to the bed and flipped the covers back, pulling something out from underneath. A punch bag was unearthed, which she heaved across the room and hung from the ceiling – two metal rungs were fastened into the ceiling, which I hadn’t noticed before.

“Take a shot,” she gestured, once it was tackled into submission.

“Um,” I faltered.

A wimpy half-attempt at a punch ensued.

“Nice one,” Jade laughed, “That’ll really help when your attacker decides to turn into a jellyfish…”

I grinned sheepishly, my depression receding a little.

“Hold your fist like this,” she explained, demonstrating, “With your thumb on the outside, supporting your first two fingers. Align the tops… There. When you punch, start with your arm tucked into your side like so…”

She demonstrated, resting her fist just above her hip, upside-down, then bringing it forwards and twisting round in slow motion. She did it again, and then showed me how it would look full-speed. The bunch bag swung haphazardly.

“Your turn,” she prompted.

I attempted to copy, holding my fist as she’d shown me, and then doing a slow-mo run for starters.

“Better. Do a couple of stretches before you go full-out,” she warned.

I did so, noting that the need to punch the bag had been building up steadily since Jade had pulled it out from underneath the bed.

What could be better than kicking the hell out of an inanimate object?

I’ve already told you, I’m a pacifist!

Screw pacifism, besides, it doesn’t apply to inanimate objects.

You tell that to the bag when it gets its own back.

“Ready?” Jade asked, after a minute or so.

“Yup,” I breathed.

I tucked my fist into my hip and then swung it forward, letting the frustration dissipate into the solid contact with the bag. A satisfying thud issued throughout the room.

“Good, try again,” Jade said, holding the bag so that it wouldn’t swing.

Longing for the satisfying thud again, I threw another punch at the red. I sighed as I stood back, grinning at Jade, calmer than I had been for a week and more.

“Hit it as many times as you need to,” Jade urged.

“Yes ma’am,” I replied, and began to build up a rhythm of steady punches.

“If it helps,” Jade whispered, “You can picture someone’s face.”

And with that, I began to beat the hell out of my grandmother, Cecilia, Violet and whoever had first dreamt up the idea of royalty.