Something I Wrote

In bed I twist and turn.

In my head, I watch the fire burn.

I'm in some weird dream. In front of me is an enormous campfire. It looks perfect - so perfect its fake.

3 boys sit around the fire with me. It's almost impossible to see whoever is sitting across from me, only their hair - almond brown hair fluffed up in the front - and part of a snow white forehead is visible from where I am.

The boy to my left is unfamiliar, he looks almost like the one across from me but his hair just tasseled around instead of sticking up. He is also much tanner.

I can't see his face even though the fire isn't blocking it. A shiver runs down my spine, his face is blurred. I'm horrified when I look to my right to see the third boy with the same blurred face. The third boy is vaguely familiar. This one's a blondie, his hair a little matted, like he hasn't had his hair properly washed in awhile. His skin is a warm honey tone in the fire light. I'm more worried about why their faces are blurred than who they are.


I wake up to the maid pouring me tea as usual. The warm scent flows up my nose, pleasing my foggy morning brain. With a tired sigh, I sit up and stretch, happy I'm awake instead of in whatever bizarre dream that was. Rosie - my maid - gives me a small curtsy.

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” she lifts up my teacup, “What would you like in your tea?” she says softly, eyeing my messy bed hair. She would’ve said something if she wasn’t a maid. If she said something remotely rude sounding, she could be fired.

Only if a guard heard. I would never get her fired. Rosie was basically the only friend I had. She’s a good listener. Although, she kind of has to be.

“I tell you every morning!” I say exasperated.

She shrivels back afraid. “I’m sorry.” she mumbles.

I close my eyes and throw my head back as I inhale deeply. When I’m done I turn my head to her and open my eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m just…frustrated.” I speak calmly this time.

She adds two sugar cubes and a spoonful of honey into my tea. Just how I like it.

“Why are you frustrated dear Princesse?”, she asks softly, “After all it is only 10 in the morning.”

I want to tell her the real reason I’m frustrated but I can’t. If anyone knows about me and Adrien… I don't know what would happen to him. To us.

I grab the tea off the table and take a sip while deciding what to say. I had that big essay to write but I finished that in no time. I do have to prepare for the royal family of (???) to come.

I gulp down another mouthful of tea, finally deciding what to say.

"I'm constantly in and out of dresses, trying to please Princes from all different kingdoms. I don't want to marry any of those snobs who barely know who I am. They only remotely care about me because they think I'm pretty. I want a guy who cares about me. Like…like-" I let out a dramatic sigh and slouch back down.

Like Adrien.

Rosie shakes her head, "I'm afraid that's just how Royalty works. A marriage with another prince-"

"- would form a great alliance with another kingdom." We finish together.

"I know, I've been told millions of times." I mutter with an annoyed tone.

“I’m sorry.” she says calmly, walking over the my bathroom door probably to prepare my shower.

I shake my head and turn the other way, “Stop apologizing.”

“Sorry-” she starts. I roll over to talk to her but instead, I smash my hand on my floral china teacup on the table beside me.

When I look at the table, shards from the teacup are everywhere - a few of them even have blood on them. I flip my hand over, surprised to see several scratch-type wounds with blood trickling out of them.

The door is thrown open and the door guard runs straight to me. Rosie must've seen my hand because she ran out babbling something about getting the doctor.

“What happened?! Are you ok?!” he snaps looking me up and down.

I wipe my messy hair out of my face and eye the door, surely more guards were on their way if they saw Rosie sprinting down the halls.

"I'm fine," I answer, "I accidentally hit the teacup when I turned." I look down at the back of my hand (which was basically covered in blood) "It's no big deal." I finish with a shrug.

He looks at me like I'm dumber than dog dirt.

"So that", he points to my hand, "is no big deal to you."

I roll my eyes, "Well it's not killing me, is it, Max?"

"No," he pulls out a handkerchief and wraps it around my hand, "but we need an heir to the throne."

"So your attitude is what makes you a good guard I guess." I mumble under my breath.

He chuckles, "That's the 37th time you've said that. And…" he squeezes my injured hand, "if I recall, you were the one with the attitude."

I scoff, "So Romeo's been counting?" He obviously had a crush on me. We've been friends since we were 10 and my parents let me try out public school. Well, more like I begged them and said it was all I wanted for my birthday.

"Did you just call me Romeo?" He asks with a disgusted look, but I could tell he was blushing.

“No, don’t even try to pretend, you’ve obviously liked me since we met. You barely knew me and bought me a birthday present. You probably used up all your money on me then, not to mention the other 5 birthdays.” I smirk, waiting for a response. I’ve been wanting to have this conversation for many years.

I give him a minute to think of a response.

“Well - but - I mean - you are the Princesse of Bristole. I was just… giving my future Queen a birthday gift.” he fumbled multiple times in the two sentences.

“Ooooh,” I let the ‘Oh’ last awhile, “Okay Romeo, it makes sense now.” I grin.

“You know L-” he starts but is immediately cut off by my father, several nurses, a doctor, and Rosie storming in. The nurses were rolling a stretcher into the room. Why on earth would I need a stretcher if I have a cut hand? I might need a couple stitches in my hand, not in my head.

No, the weirdest part isn’t that my father is only wearing pants.

The weirdest part is Max is still holding my hand.

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