Diary of a Reluctant Ruler

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.

@!($%! #@~!”^&*!!!

I was staring at the front page of The Herald, which a telltale block of colour, with the words “Royal Exclusive!” written in bold, under a mini picture of myself and James. All I could think was that under no circumstances could James see this article, whatever it contained. Just to make things worse, The Herald was the only newspaper James seemed to read.

It’s hard enough to find someone in the Palace at the best of times, let alone on a Monday when there were about a hundred Chinese tourists swarming around the lower flours, snapping pictures left and right.

I attempted to make my way to the Library, avoiding main corridors or rooms of particular historical significance. I knew the traditional tour route off-by-heart, but the tour guides often deviated in order to avoid traffic jams with other parties. I crossed my fingers that they wouldn’t today.

But fate, it seemed, was against me.

The first party I managed with. They smiled and waved from a T-junction in the corridors, then moved on with their guide. The second party I had to endure, as I ran straight into them round a bend. A serious number of camera flashes and handshakes later, and I managed to escape them. All seemed calm and safe as I made my way to the back staircase. I sighed a breath of relief as I peered round the corner to an empty hallway.

No sooner had I stepped out than there was a creak of hinges.

The hum of voices and the calling tone of a tour guide reached my ears and I panicked. Like a nude streaker making a dash across the pitch I sprinted full out to the broom cupboard under the staircase. Breathing rather heavily, I pressed an ear to the door to listen for any sign that I’d been seen.

Nothing.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Why is the light already on?

I dunno…

There’s someone already in here, isn’t there?

I turned around, ready to confront a surprised maid with an apologetic smile.

Oh god.

The person looking at me was not a maid. It was the one person I really should not be in a broom cupboard with. It was, knowing my good luck, James.

“Hey,” he said, his face mirroring my own: a mixture of horror, surprise and embarrassment.

“Hi,” I replied, “What a coincidence, to find you, here… in this broom cupboard.”

“Yeah…” he said, grimacing.

“There were, um, tourists,” I explained.

We both nodded at each other vigorously for a moment, awkward silence filling the room. Well, cupboard…

“So, how are you?” I asked, after a moment.

“Good, you?” he nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

I smiled awkwardly and checked the keyhole for signs of the party moving on.

“Dammit,” I breathed.

“What?” James asked.

“Er, nothing.”

“What?” James asked again.

“They’ve stopped,” I said, annoyed, “They’ll probably stay there for ten minutes whilst the tour guide goes through the history of the dumb staircase. It’s the only one that’s always been in the palace.”

“Oh,” he said, “Right. Ten minutes…”

I could see him contemplating the thought of having to stay ten minutes in a broom cupboard with me. I wished silently that he would be less obvious about his uncomfort at the idea.

“Am I really such a bad kisser?!” I blurted out, hurt.

James snorted, a smile spreading infectiously across his face. I smiled ashamedly.

“I was angry,” he said.

“So I’m okay at kissing?”

“You’re fine,” James said, avoiding eye contact.

“Good. Pax?” I asked, offering a handshake.

“Yeah, pax.”

Awkward silence resumed and I looked around for something to sit on. Unlike the Hogwarts broom cupboards, there was no readily available bucket or stool.

“Here,” James said, motioning to the basket of rags he had been sitting on previously with a newspaper.

“No, I’m – I’m fine,” I stuttered, my eyes fixed on the newspaper.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Yeah… is that The Herald?” I blurted out, pointing with my own copy.

“Um, yeah… is… is that?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered, “And it is a rubbish edition, today. Not at all worth reading.”

“No?” James replied, watching me curiously, “I thought the front page seemed kinda intriguing.”

There was a brief moment of pause.

I need to get it off him!!!

How?!

Rugby tackle!!!

We are in a broom cupboard… there’s limited space.

Fine, minature rugby tackle!

“Can I have a look at that?” I asked, “Or just borrow the first three pages?”

“Phil, you’ve got a copy in your hand,” James said.

“Oh right, yeah… same paper…”

“Which page is the article on that you want to read?” he asked.

“Um, three…” I replied, naming the page with the ‘Royal Exclusive’ on it.

I paused for a moment, studying his expression.

“James… have you read the article?” I asked, attempting to smother my fast beating heart.

“No, not yet…”

“Neither have I,” I replied, “Maybe we should keep it that way?”

“Why?” James asked, eyes narrowing.

“Hang on… do you know something about that article?” I asked, eyes wide.

“Well, this woman Lockhart did interview me the other day, for the Herald…”

“Yeah… they interviewed me too,” I confessed, “I’m not sure how much they’ll have… well, edited it. It could say anything.”

“Yeah…” James said, a slight mischievous smile darting across his lips, “Looks like we’re in the same boat then. So I guess it doesn’t matter if I read it.”

“Um…”

“Come on,” he prompted, “It can’t be that bad.”

“I think it can.”

“Why? What exactly did you say to them?” he asked, grinning.

“Nothing important,” I mumbled, standing up to check if the tourists were still there.

“Ok, I’m about to read mine, you gonna?”

“No,” I replied, bracing myself against the wall, hands pressed to my eyes as if I could shut it all out.

“Fine,” James replied, beginning to read.

“Oh, come on, that’s not fair!”

I cracked, sitting down to peer over his shoulder. Our interviews were side-by-side, questions almost identical, but with substituted names. The answers were… rather different.

I read through mine to see how much they had been edited.

How are you? Ok.

You were with James for four months, and you’ve only known him six months, so the majority of your time together has been spent as partners, not as friends. Are you guys still in that awkward phase? Forget awkward, we’re near-enemies.

Have you met anyone since the split with James? Plenty of nice enough people.

So are you seeing anyone else? No.

Is James?. He’s been hanging out with some chick…

You’ve said before that the break-up was because of a conflict of interests. Do you mean James didn’t want to be King? Look, whoever I marry is not going to be King. They’ll just be my husband. I’m going to be the Queen, not them. I’m sick of people saying that he has to be a king…

You don’t think it’s old-fashioned you’re expected to be married before taking the throne? Maybe a little.

So you would marry him if he asked you? …

Are you still in love with James? No!

And how about James, do you think he still has feelings for you? I really don’t think so.

How about Prince Philippe? You and he met last year, and seemed to get along. Oh, sure, because I’d marry someone I’d only known for a month.

Quickfire! Name your favourite:
Colour? Green.
Time of year? Autumn.
Food? Spaghetti.
Instrument? Piano.
Person? James.

You say you’re near-enemies, and that James doesn’t like you, yet he’s your favourite person? Look, I don’t like him, okay? I just don’t happen to be lucky enough to have a lot of close friends. Besides, he’s a complete idiot. You can’t just go around kissing people… and, er, not go out with them… I mean, it’s… it’s just not polite.

We at the Herald can only conclude that there’s a lot more going on in Princess Meredith’s head than she likes to own up too. We look forward to her next interview.

I need to learn to hold my tongue.

“Am I allowed to read your section?” James asked, curiously.

“No!” I screeched, horrified.

Way to sound like a cat.

A dieing cat.

“Fine, but then you can’t read mine,” he said.

“That’s fine by me,” I agreed, “But how do I know you won’t just read it once I’ve left?”

“Pinky swear?” he asked, holding out his pinky.

I linked my own through his.

“Repeat after me; I hereby swear not to read the other half of the article, unless mutually agreed with Phil,” I chanted.

“I hereby swear not to read the other half of the article, unless agreed with Phil,” James swore.

I breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank you.”

Silence returned to the musty cupboard, and I checked the keyhole again for tourists. I couldn’t see any.

“Right, it’s been lovely,” I said, “But I must bid you au revoir. I’ll see you at dinner, I’m sure. The ambassador from Lorainya has decided to make another visit.”

Exuent through closet door.

Sadly, the tourists had only migrated out of site to halfway up the staircase, and my exit was observed by all, who were marvelling at the marble floor from above.

“It is zee princess!” cried a thick german accent.

Behind me, James, unaware, also exited.

“You’ve got to swear as well!” he called.

I swallowed. A camera flashed. I gave an awkward wave and decided that a speedy exit was required. Continuing to wave and half-smile I began to walk swiftly, then jog, then ran full pelt down the corridor.

“Meredith Caramont!” James yelled, “I’ll read that article!”

Oh dear god.

I hope you do.

At least if he did he’d understand a bit more about what was going on in my insane brain.