That Royal Betrothal

Prologue

*2 weeks before*

     I remember mum’s exact words. Like her last words to me about my betrothed marriage. She had said,

    “All of this looks so bad, child, but try fixing it”. I have always looked up to mom as a very realistic person. A woman of principles, virtues and love for her family, I adored her. She had this perk of being protective of her home and deals with it just right.

     That day exact replayed in my head over and over again like a broken brick, fixing over and all over again. I had attempted to convince my mum to stop this, looking forward, raising my chin up and stabilizing my shoulders like a true royal princess.

     “You, you can fix this. Why won’t you?”, I had said to her. Mrs. Sanders was an epitome of a perfect queen. She had been a peasant long enough even before she became a royal queen of England. She looked younger than her age and is a mouthwatering beauty.

     “To fulfil all righteousness, child. You will understand sooner or later. Pray thee, this masculine is the best for you. There is nothing more surreal as this”, she says in her clean English accent. Years of being a royal queen really shaped my mum. I mean, you should have seen her when she was a full-time peasant mistress. Always chilling like a villain.

     “Mum? I don’t think I’m ready”, I said as calm as I could. After years of being taught how to be a proper English, I have been told to be relaxed even when angered to the extreme. I held the folds of my lilac knee length night gown, staring at the moonlight outside the window.

     “That comes the best part of it all”, she smiled highlighting her perfect sets of white teeth, swaying her graceful manicured hands in the air with her curls going here and there.