My adored queen

1.

Is it easy to be a princess? To wear luxurious dresses, precious jewels, bathe in rose petals, and savor only the finest dishes? Is it easy to be a princess? An example, a model, a standard for all. To dance at balls, and in the evenings, play the piano and sing. To embroider with golden threads, to engage in charity. Is it easy to be a princess? To marry a fairytale prince, to live with him in a grand palace, happily ever after. To await coronation, to become a queen, wise and just, respected by advisors and loved by the people, and... Even without the 'and.' Are there really those who believe a princess's life is such a fairytale? Let's take a look behind the mirror.

What does it mean to be a princess? To wear dresses you dislike, simply because your nanny ordered it, who will later be replaced by a chief lady-in-waiting, whose job is to care for you. And you must always be grateful, or else: 'Your Highness, such behavior is unbecoming!' What does it mean to be a princess? To choke back saliva at a table laden with luxurious dishes, unable to eat what tastes good, only what is permissible, so as not to spoil your figure. For a princess, her figure is sacred. If a princess gains weight, her dress will still be made several sizes smaller, and then she'll be squeezed so tightly by that cursed corset that she won't be able to eat for two weeks, only moistening her lips with a wet handkerchief. One of those she embroidered herself. Because where else would they all go? What does it mean to be a princess? To attend all the mind-numbingly dull festivities, to converse for hours with people you despise, and to smile sunnily when you want to weep. To always wear a mask, not raise your voice, not look back, not fidget, to dance better than everyone, to sing better than everyone, to have an excellent sense of humor, and yet remain silent, so as not to create an awkward situation. Everyone serves a princess?! Ha, thrice! Not likely! She's the most genuine servant in disguise, and a hostage. They'll arrange a betrothal with one of those obnoxious people from the ball, and you'll be lucky if you've even seen him. And if not, you'll meet your husband the day before the wedding. Now do you understand what it means to be a princess? Your dreams are empty; you desire the wrapping, but inside is not the most delicious candy. Do you think earning love and respect is easy? They're all ready to descend into the Underworld, just to drag you down with them! A farce... Being a princess and being a hated slave is almost the same. Only a princess looks elegant; she has no choice...

'Oh, Mother, enough!' I hugged the small tiara, a gift from my uncle the king for my tenth birthday, to my heart, refusing to believe my mother's words. 'But you didn't marry an obnoxious stranger, so why all the drama?' I asked, my green eyes sparkling with amusement. And I was wrong. Ileria Wilson, the younger sister of our monarch, his favorite, his soul, his star, and a true princess by birth, of all the truest princesses. Her portrait even hangs on a huge wall in the kingdom's Portrait Hall. It depicts a majestic throne, draped in red velvet (a symbol of power: both the throne and the red velvet), on which sits the still very young His Majesty Leonard Martial, with a golden crown on his curly blond hair. To his right is my mother, then Ileria Martial, and after marriage, Duchess Alvina Ileria Wilson, in a beautiful violet dress with a long chain on her chest. Mother always disliked that chain, but the artist's assistant insisted, saying it completed the image. And I, honestly, always agreed, but Mother constantly complained about the pesky ornament. To the left of my uncle in the portrait is another princess, still a young girl, their younger sister Palmira Martial, now Duchess Ilain Palmira Tillar, the mother of my best friend and cousin Nikolina. So, being a member of the royal family, Mother knew all the advantages and disadvantages of life at court. And now, hearing my sighs about being the king's beloved niece but not the heir to the throne, she decided to explain the charms of being a princess to me.

'Annie, my dear,' she smiled gently, stroking my curly hair, just like my uncle's in the portrait. 'I knew of your father before the wedding, but I saw him no more than once a year at the royal ball; he didn't come more often. We rarely exchanged two words, and we only danced once before the wedding. When my father, your grandfather, may he rest in peace, told me about the marriage and named Philip Wilson, I struggled to remember who he was. Where is the happiness in that?'

'But you're happy!' I protested, glancing again at my uncle's gift. One of many, to be honest. He always threw a ball and reception for my birthday and showered me with gifts. Last year, he gave me three thoroughbred stallions and a sleigh. In spring, a sleigh. Thank heavens the craftsmen thought to put wheels on it, or I'd be dragging it through the grass. The year before, for my eighth birthday, a pony. For my seventh, they built me a real separate palace in the royal garden. A toy one, but big enough for Nikolina and me. I lived at court for a month to play in it, and when Mother complained to the queen that she didn't see me for days because of the gift, they built another palace in Alvina, at our home, at Her Majesty's expense. She's also very kind. And for my tenth birthday, Uncle gave me a real tiara. With a straight row of diamonds, studded with mother-of-pearl. It sparkles beautifully with my chestnut-reddish hair. I've adored tiaras and crowns since childhood, and His Majesty knew it. How could he not, when I, taking advantage of sitting on the monarch's lap (which he often did), brazenly took off his crown and put it on myself? Often, it was too big for me and fell down to my neck. Uncle laughed, saying I was the only one in the family who resembled him (no one else paraded around the palace in his crown), and now he'd given me my own.

'I'm happy, darling. But when? Now. When I met Philip and fell in love with him, when I gave birth to a beautiful daughter and a clever son. Now I'm truly happy... But I'm no longer a princess,' she smiled, playfully pinching my upturned nose.

'Your Grace, the fund manager and his assistant have arrived,' a servant interrupted our conversation.

'Invite them to the garden, to my favorite gazebo; I'll be there shortly,' Mother responded, smiling gently at me. 'That's how it is. Always business; you don't even have time to sit with your children. There are none of those blessings you dream of, little one...'

She kissed my forehead and, gracefully rising from the sofa, left the room.

'Yes, there are,' I whispered, knowing Mother wouldn't hear, and pressed the tiara to my chest, imagining I was not some marchioness, but a real princess, dancing at a ball with a handsome prince, reflected as a beauty in his big blue eyes.

Ten years passed like a moment. From that sweet marchioness dreaming of love grew a grown lady, the pride of the dynasty and the hope of all of Lantonia, our glorious kingdom! Well, I exaggerated a bit, but never mind. I no longer dreamed of the blue eyes of a handsome prince, nor did I cherish hopes of a happy marriage. I didn't want to marry at all and enjoyed my carefree, happy life as His Majesty's beloved niece.

But one spring day, everything changed.

'Annie, you cheated again! You didn't play fair! I swear, you didn't!' my younger brother's voice rang out with indignation. The sun from the large window brightly illuminated his round, pretty face, and his long, almost girlish eyelashes cast shadows on his rosy cheeks. Orian should have been born a girl; then he would have had a chance to compete with me for the title of the kingdom's most beautiful lady.

'Learn to lose with dignity,' I retorted, twirling the captured enemy queen piece in my fingers, its polished ivory sending sunbeams dancing across the walls of the cozy room.

'We've been playing since morning, and you haven't lost once! You're a witch or a cheat, there's no other explanation!' my brother grumbled, throwing two pawns at me, the only ones he'd managed to capture during the game.

'Sleight of hand and no cheating,' I sang cheerfully, quickly resetting the elegant pieces on the monotonous board. Orian rolled his eyes.

'Fine, you're impossible to play with!'

'Learn to think, to see the moves in your head, to calculate them all! I'm teaching you, but it's useless. Anger is your worst enemy,' I lectured the young marquis, but he only shrugged, waving me off. Oh, these sixteen-year-olds, they don't want to learn anything! 'Nikolina, it's your turn...'

Glancing at my cousin, who was watching us with interest, I patted the divan beside me.

'Where can I compete with Your Highness?' my friend smiled, playfully pushing me in the shoulder. 'The king himself taught you, shared his secrets. Orian and I only had tutors, so we have to resign ourselves to the title of eternal outsiders...'

'Fine, I'll play by myself,' I said, waving at these traitors, and with that, my wide lace-trimmed sleeve (oh, this court fashion: I tangle it three times before I eat and knock over two glasses. After years of studying etiquette, I still can't manage this uncomfortable clothing).

'Are you having a personality split?' Nikolina chuckled.

'Should we glue you back together?' Orian suggested, glancing at her. He was up to something... He's quite the inventor!

'What else are relatives for?'

Looking at each other, these mischief-makers pounced on me with laughter, pushing me onto the cushions, and... well, I don't know. I guess this torture by laughter, this ordeal and violence against a member of the royal family, was called tickling. It's been my weakness since childhood. They only had to touch me, and I'd burst into laughter. That's why Father and Uncle loved to torment me. And now, as a young lady, my younger brother and sister, great lovers of torment, had taken over.

'Stop, please,' I begged through tears and laughter, trying to fend them off. Our merriment made so much noise that we didn't even notice Mother's arrival, and only her soft, velvety voice made these rascals leave me alone, and me, still trying to suppress my laughter, rise.

'Children, what's going on?' the duchess's voice was even and calm, but one look at her emotionless, doll-like face was enough to tell me that something had happened and it had seriously disturbed her. She gracefully sat between Orian and me, taking each of our hands in her delicate fingers. She forced a smile, as she always did when she had to deliver something very important and couldn't bring herself to do it.

'Annie, Nikolina, Orian, I have to bring you bad news,' Mother said, taking a deep breath and looking straight into my eyes, still filled with laughter and tears, but now frozen with dread. 'Your uncle and my dear brother, His Majesty King Leonard Martial of Lantonia...' my heart trembled in my chest; I wanted to stop time, to avoid hearing that 'bad news.' It was probably some order that had upset Mother. Maybe they wanted to marry me off? I was of age, but Uncle always told me to look for love, so what was it? '...has passed away. He's in heaven now.'