The Reluctant Queen
Isabelle woke up just like any other day. Her hair was messy, her pajamas were askew, and her teeth needed some serious brushing. Although it felt like an ordinary day, it wasn’t. Today was the day she would become queen of the entire realm of Shodundra. After that realization, she flung the covers back over her head as her perky handmaiden, Marci, bounded into the room.
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Marci sang as she tore open the curtain and bathed the room in sunlight.
“Ugh, Marci, shut the curtains, shut the doors, and tell all the people to leave the castle immediately,” wailed Isabelle. “I think I might have come down with a terrible cold. It might even be the plague.”
“Miss, I don’t even think the apocalypse could stop your coronation. Your advisors would make sure you walked down that aisle even if they had to carry you themselves.” While Marci radiated rainbows and butterflies, she did know how to deal firmly with Isabelle’s moods.
Grunting and whining, Isabelle heaved herself out of her bed and into her bathing chamber. Emerging in a cozy bathroom, Marci offered her a cup of coffee. Isabelle inhaled the steaming aroma of hazelnut, chocolate, and vanilla. Isabelle took a sip and sighed. It might not be a great day, but at least she could enjoy her coffee.
Well, she thought she would get to enjoy it. Just as Isabelle reclined on her sofa, Timothy, one of her advisors, burst into the room. “Isabelle, there you are! You were expected in the throne room at nine o’clock. It’s a quarter past ten. Marci, why is she not dressed yet?”
Isabelle rolled her eyes and took another sip of her coffee. It was too early in the day to deal with his nonsense.
“Sir,” Marci curtisied. “Her Majesty had a long night and needed a slower start to her day. She is finishing breakfast and will be down in half an hour.”
“I don’t care if she has not slept in a week. She needs to perform her best today. I want her dressed and ready in fifteen minutes.” Without waiting for a reply, Timothy rushed out of the room.
“One of these days Timothy’s tantrums will give him a heart attack.” Isabelle rose and headed to her vanity. As she sat, she noticed the makeup and jewels Marci had laid out for her. Diamonds and pink quartz to match her pale pink gown.
“He is a bit high-strung,” agreed Marci. “We best get you ready before he busts a blood vessel yelling again.”
Within twenty minutes, Isabelle was transformed from a sleep-deprived worrywart into a picture-perfect queen-to-be. If only she felt as composed as she appeared. She took three deep breathes and emerged into the throne room full of courtiers and other people who wanted to be on her good side. Pleasantry after pleasantry passed, and Isabelle felt drained. She sought refuge in an alcove just outside the far corner of the throne room. Quite interestingly enough, no one noticed her absence.
“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” an older woman said from within the alcove. Isabelle had not noticed her presence before. The older woman continued, “What are you doing out here while they are celebrating you in there?”
“Honestly, I’m a bit overwhelmed by all of the celebrations.” Isabelle fidgeted with her gown.
“Are you sure you are not more overwhelmed by the crown?” The older woman leaned in closer.
Isabelle laughed. Of course, she was anxious about becoming queen. Although she had trained her entire life for the moment, she still did not want the weight of all those responsibilities and all the eyes of the people on her.
“Let an old woman offer you some wisdom, eh? You will be queen, and you can do things your own way. The only set of expectations you need to worry about are yours.” With that the old woman left Isabelle in the dark to process her words.
She had never thought that being queen meant she could make the rules. She always saw it as her job to please the people and maintain the expectations of her advisors. Maybe not. Just maybe she could be herself and be queen, too. She straightened herself and walked back into the throne room with her head held high.
“Everyone out!”
“But Your Majesty,” Timothy argued, but Isabelle cut him off before he could say another word.
“Let’s get this coronation over with, and then I want to curl up with a good book and some more coffee for the rest of the night in peace.”
“You only are crowned queen once,” crowed Timothy.
“Yes, and I intend to do it my way.” Isabelle did just that. She ruled her kingdom by remaining true to herself, and Shodundra flourished because of it.
