Twisted-Games

“Good night, princess.”
“Good night, Mr. Larsen.”
That night, I lay in bed and stared at Rhys’s drawing in the moonlight
filtering through the curtains. I wished I was that girl again. Not yet crown
princess, soaking up the sun in a remote town where no one could find me.
But I wasn’t.
Perhaps I loved Rhys’s drawing so much not only because he was the
artist, but because it immortalized a version of myself I could never be again.
I gently rolled the sketch up and tucked it into a safe corner of my bedside
drawer.
Part-Time Princess.
Being the monarch of Eldorra requires more than a pretty face.
Let me be clear, Mr. Speaker. I have no intention of abdicating, stepping
aside, or handing my responsibilities to anyone else.
Until now, I’d been a passive participant in my own life, letting others
make my decisions, the press run roughshod over me, and the likes of Erhall
condescend to me.
Not anymore. It was time to take matters into my own hands.
The game of Eldorran politics was a battlefield, and this was war.