The Princess Diary

[Havenshire]

Monday

January 23rd, 2012


Today I give a Speech to the Young People's Party in Franken. It's a 45 minute bit, in which I speak about myself, about Peace, about Hope for the future. I've never been good at public speaking, I just find it so awkward. Its why I prefer Poetry, a way for me to hide my embarassment in the moment, get lost in the words rather than the speaking of them. But I have to do this. I'll be 16 in two months. Not old enough yet to do without Uncle's advice. But old enough to start making the rounds, as he calls it. The lecture circuit, the fundraisers, the balls. I grow so sick at the thought of spending time with the old-world aristocracy. There's just something so much more vibrant about being a Citizen of the World- a luxury i know I cannot really indulge in, but the Internet affords me that- I don't know, its all so confusing some times.

There's a piece on the news. Engellexic troops parading through Lille. I wept at the sight of such glory and pageantry, the pomp and splendour, used to disguise the ugliest of truths. So many of my friends don't know their futures. I've had to leave school behind. My estate is still -just- on the right side of the front lines. But I wouldn't put it past Engellex to push a Mechanised Infantry Brigade right through it. I've ordered my servants to surrender at the first sign of trouble. There's too much violence already.

It galls me to know, to be told always, that I'm special. That i'm royal. That Engellex, Montelimar, Arendaal and Wiese's royal heads of state are all my relatives. To be told there's a special land across the sea, an Island Fortress waiting for me, one day, to claim as my own. As a child it was wonderful to be told this. But the etiquette lessons, the discpline, the lack of friends...

Anyway, The car's here. Franken's Hotels are nice, but I miss home. And Home for me is Montelimar, which Engellex, in the name of manifest destiny or royal perogative is gradually, steadily, destroying.

In Shakespeare, the Breotonian King would trade his Kingdom for a Horse. I'd trade my Queendom for peace. A much better trade, if it could be made.

 

[Havenshire]

In Three Days, she would be introduced to the world as a Potential Queen.

Rebecca winced as the dressfitter poked her accidentally with a needle. It was hard enough standing this still, without having to endure these pricks and pokes.

"Sorry your majestie." said an elderly, gruff voice from below. The Dressfitter was Franconian, and as such had a fairly liberal attitude to royalty, born of decades of experience with them. Rebecca didn't mind. She had never had much love for all the ritual and tradition and deferential treatment. She had gone to school with others who had treated her as an equal, with little focus on rank or privilege. It had been exactly what she had wanted and needed.

But now, she found that the course of her life- which she had spent so long ignoring or putting off- was pulling her back to her destiny. To be placed above others, to be expected and revered and hated and feared and to be involved in the politics of nations. Her Uncle was very ambitious on that front, far more so than her Grandfather had ever been.

"You will be Queen one day, wether Havenshire recognises it or not." He had said to her, earlier. "This Ball is but the first, necessary step on the Dance you will, must, preform in. I know you will not disappoint." He was harsh, and firm, but she could not fault him for it. He had worked incredibly hard for the last sixteen years, after all. She knew how lucky she was to be where she was, recieving what she had. In her homeland, she would be lucky to be alive, much less in a position of comfort or wealth.

"Are we nearly done here?" She asked, the dressfitter, her muscles aching from standing still so long.

"Almost yer majestie."

She sighed, and cast her mind forward, imagining what the Ball would look like. This Palace felt unfamilliar, so unlike the more comfortable Mansion she had been raised in in Montelimar. It wasn't even theirs, technically, but owned by some distant Franconian cousin or another, and had been leant to them by the kindly Franconian Royal family and an understanding and sympathetic government. In return, she supposed, they were expected to provide...something. Her uncle had already begun moving business interests here, and mobilising the Havenite expatriate community to begin supporting Montelimar's cause, aswell. She wasn't supposed to know this, but they had begun making discreet inquiries about getting arms from Breotonia and Europaland, to help the FTLM. She had never had much love for the Engellexic family, but she couldn't imagine that their activities would endear them at all to a family distantly related to them. Then again, half of Europe's rulers were in some way related to them, she supposed.

"Does it really have to be so tight? And why a corset in this day and age? I'm scrawny enough as it is." She complained.
"Tradition, yer majestie. A Dress just like this was worn by your mutter, and her mutter, and..."
"Yes, Yes, I understand."

It was only 3 more days, but she could tell it was going to be a very, very long wait.