Chapter Text
First of all, I’d just like to make it clear that nobody told me to do this. In fact, they kind of told me not to, but more on that later.
This is the story of two people who tried to change things but weren’t all that clever about it (no offence). And since I’m not involved, I’ll be here taking the role of the omniscient narrator. Surrounded by a pile of history books and a fuck ton of paper to write this all down on.
I don’t really know why I’m doing this, I mean, they’ve told me the stories before. But I want to find out my history for myself, and then criticize every aspect of it.
I’m a very critical person. I think I get it from my mum.
Anyway, on with the story.
(Side note - Nobody in this kingdom can keep accurate records, so most of the dialogue is invented. But I tried to fit it into what happened as much as possible)
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The Characters:
Veronica “Ronnie” Sawyer - Princess of Westerburg, age 17
Catherine Sawyer - Queen of Westerburg, age 37
Leonard Sawyer - King of Westerburg, age 45
Heather Chandler - Lady in Waiting to the Princess, age 19
Heather “H” Duke - Lady in Waiting to the Princess, age 17
Heather “Mac” McNamara - Lady in Waiting to the Princess, age 17
Martha Dunnstock - Fellow nobility, age 17
Ram Sweeney - Suitor to the Princess, age 17
Kurt Kelly - Suitor to the Princess, age 17
Pauline “The Dragon” Fleming - Tutor to the Princess, age 53
Jason “JD” Dean - Prince of Dekanus, age 17
Bud Dean - King of Dekanus, age 46
Cephy Dean - Queen of Dekanus, age 40
Naomi Dean - Princess of Dekanus, age 15
Slushie - JD’s horse
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“Veronica, please, stop moving around. Your hair is hard enough to tame as it is.”
Veronica tried to relax her face, but it was hard. There was a swirl of emotions trying to take control, and she didn’t just want to sit still whilst Heather pulled at her hair and tried to wrestle it back into a respectable bun.
H was sitting on the golden bed, combing down a midnight blue dress sent up by The Dragon, aka Miss Fleming, earlier. And Mac was tidying away the brushes she’d just spent an hour combing over Veronica’s face, trying to hide the scratches from their trip into the Royal Gardens earlier.
Martha was resplendent in a maroon dress, staring out of the window. “What do you think it’s for?” She asked, watching the crowds of noblemen and poor alike enter the golden gates of the castle.
“Probably just another excuse for Sawyer and Catherine to show off their resplendent wealth and beautiful kingdom.” Heather scoffed. “I wonder if anybody will show up from across the water.”
“Heather!” Mac gasped, setting down the brushes. “You know that there’s high tension between us. Don’t be so ridiculous.”
“One comment won’t start a war, Mac.” H got up and pulled Veronica round into her closet. “Now, get dressed, because if you’re late again we’ll lose our heads.”
Veronica pulled off her much-more-comfortable tunic and leggings and climbed into the mountain of blue velvet. It fitted, but it pinched. And made it really hard to move around, which she suspected was the idea - you couldn’t run away in this dress.
When she came into her room, the Heather’s were fighting with pillows and Martha was sitting in hysterics on her bed.
She smiled, and wished this could last forever.
But there were balls to attend and duties to fulfill.
After all, she was the royal princess. Born to be kind and gracious, biting her tongue when she wanted to talk back to rich old men who thought they knew everything because they were noble and clenching her fists at her sides when sometimes she just wanted to burn the palace to the ground. Heather always clucked her tongue whenever she saw the grooves made by Veronica's perfectly manicured nails (because obviously princesses have to be perfect, right?)
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“Everyone looks so regal!” Martha whispered in Veronica’s ear as they descended the staircase into the fray of nobles.
Normally, she just moved through balls like they were a chore and ignored everyone, waiting for the night to be over. But lately she’d started paying attention.]
Why was it that they had to segregate between the nobles and the “commoners”? Couldn’t everyone dance together?
And she couldn’t help noticing that nobody wore black, despite the theme of the ball being darkness. In fact, she’d seen nobody in a black gown for the last year, ever since whispers of a war started creeping round corners, a war with the neighbouring Kingdom of Dekanus, who’d adopted a flag of all black.
The last time she’d seen somebody her age, or slightly younger, in a black dress at a ball, it had been two years ago and the Princess of Dekanus had attended with her mother. Naomi hadn’t spoken to anybody that night, but Veronica had watched her move away from all conversations and wondered why she seemed so scared of any imposing male figure.
Then she’d remembered the rumours of an abusive ruler, and how a librarian once told her that Dekanus was Norwegian for Dean, which was their surname and the Kingdom’s official name, but most people who lived there just called it the Kingdom of Hell, and now Veronica couldn’t stop looking.
Tonight, though, based on the looks her parents were giving her, Veronica guessed that she couldn’t just drift through the hours.
“I’ll see you later.” She whispered in Martha’s ear, and joined her parents on the stage, bowing low before them.
“Veronica, honey, come stand with me.” Her mother, imposing and distant as always, pulled Veronica off to a crowd of noblewoman, sipping glasses of wine.
And Veronica tried not to notice Martha laughing with friends she’d never be able to make, because everyone else was too afraid to talk to her.
Eventually, she felt a tap on her shoulder.
Two boys she’d never seen before, both with brown curls and biceps barely contained in suit jackets, were grinning at her, and she felt the slightest pinch of fear in her stomach.
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“And then after backing this supposed enemy, the state figure next?”
“Erm, he died?”
"Yes, but how, Veronica?”
“He, he was in a duel?”
“Dear sweet Lord, have mercy. But we got there eventually, yes , Veronica, well done.” Miss Fleming sighed and leaned against the marble pillar of the tutoring room.
“I don’t see why I need to know this.” Veronica stacked the papers neatly at the side of her desk and put the lid on her ink bottle, ready to leap up and escape to the privacy of the Heather’s shared room. “It’s not history.”
“Yes, but it’s a play still performed in village markets today. Cultural awareness , Veronica, cultural awareness. You must understand the arts of the common people if you are to rule them.”
“Right.” Veronica braced her knuckles against the desk, waiting. But instead of her usual deep sigh, The Dragon smirked.
“Oh no, not today you don’t. You have guests, Veronica. No gallivanting about with the servants -”
At guests, her blood froze, and without waiting to be dismissed she leapt up and ran straight into the gardens…
Where sure enough, Kurt and Ram were waiting at the fountain, leering at her.
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“I mean, we totally fucked up our school, but who cares about education?” Ram snickered, throwing his arm around Kurt as they dragged an unwilling Veronica about the gardens. “But we were just, you know, busy doing other things.” They both grinned and sniggered again, then Ram quickly pulled his arm off of Kurt.
“Girls.” He clarified. “Definitely girls.”
It was the first thing he’d said since Veronica met him that she wanted to laugh at. God, how could a person be so dumb ? She wanted to go and pull her brain out after every word they said.
Her parents thought they were suitable to be suitors to the princess? Kurt and Ram ? She’d never even heard of them, but apparently they were foreign nobility. With connections to a member of court living on the Southern outskirts of the Kingdom, who supposedly owned one of the largest private armies - and since Dekanus was to the South, that part made sense. Protection at all costs.
But even though she knew that she would be married off like a mere pawn one day, couldn’t her parents have at least picked somebody who didn’t have the IQ of a dead rat? There were plenty other nobles with both armies and sons, and those sons at least knew how to talk about something other than how great they are and how they totally weren’t attracted to one another.
And with that last part, she was even more confused. Why were they pretending? The chief minister of the Kingdom was married to another man, Westerburg was a Kingdom of accepting pretty much everything.
Plus, she was known as the smart princess. The one that could read people, when she bothered to talk to them. If they were clever enough to hatch a plan to pretend not to be homosexual and marry the princess to inherit an entire kingdom, then why in gods name would they choose her? And not some dumb blonde from another kingdom?
She doubted they could have come up with such a plan, so it was more likely this was created by that courtier. A courtier who she’d actually played chess against, Rodney McCord, and one who knew how clever she was. How anybody with half a brain could easily spot that they were homosexual.
So unless he just didn’t care that she would notice this and didn’t really give about what her husband did, there was something else going on. Something that would happen before she could ever get the chance to join with either Kurt or Ram in holy matrimony.
Veronica needed a break. She couldn’t stand just living her boring, useless life anymore, walking around the palace with no purpose.
She wanted to speak to somebody who didn’t bow, who didn’t censor themselves because clearly her delicate female brain couldn’t handle a full intelligent conversation.
At least market people could probably engage in three topics of conversation.
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“Let me get this straight.” Heather frowned, hands on her hips. “You want to just go out into the Kingdom market and expect nobody to even notice you. You, the royal princess. You, heir to the throne. Somebody who has never had to speak to any sort of commoner -”
“OK, I get it!” Veronica threw her hands up in the air and fell back onto her bed. “But you weren’t always a courtier Heather. Don’t you miss a normal life?”
Heather laughed. “Bitch please. There were no hair brushes in the homes of the poor. My head looked like it was surrounded by a mane.
Veronica rolled her eyes. Seriously, why couldn’t people just not try and argue with her? “All I need is to borrow some of your less-obvious clothes.”
“You should’ve asked Mac. She’s not a slut.”
“I wasn’t calling you a slut, I was just -”
“I get it, Veronica. Here.” Heather threw a musty brown cloak in the direction of the bed. “And wear my hunting boots. You’ll be noticed immediately, but cover your face and I’ll stall for you.”
“Really!” Veronica wrapped the cloak around her light blue dress and pulled Heather into a tight hug. “You’re amazing, Heather!”
“Yes, I know.” Heather grunted, trying to break free. “Now go. And try not to fall at the first hurdle.”
“See, this is exactly why I need to go!” Veronica called out as she ran down the stairs. “I have absolutely no idea what that expression means!”
Heather sighed and turned to the window, watching the figure in the brown cloak slip out through the gates.
“She’ll be caught so quickly.” She chuckled. “God, how can somebody so smart be so fucking clueless?”
And for the record, Heather was very very right.