I Am Royal

The Claim

The royal family is already very large. 

It includes quite a few people, and also, in extension, over a hundred lords and ladies, all with their own title and own expectations of special treatment. To tell Prince Roger, the son of the Queen Veronica of Fengland, that a woman who had recently died had left a will stating that her only daughter was his daughter, was so ridiculous and laughable that when he received the news, all he could do for a moment was smile. His son, Prince Thomas, happened to be with him at the moment, and went as far as to give a hearty laugh. His father had been married only twice, once to the Princess Anne, who had died tragically, and now to the Duchess Marsha. The idea that a woman would even have the audacity to name her child his daughter was comical.

"Why am I even being bothered with this outrageous claim?" Prince Roger asked the messenger.

"Because of the circumstances surrounding it," the messenger responded.

"Which are?"

"This woman happened to have royal connections at one point in her life, and it has been proven she was at court several times during that period."

"There have been thousands of women at court," Roger said, beginning to sound bored. "It proves nothing. I had no connections to any women, and I am sure I have countless people who can prove that for me."

"Yes, sir," the messenger said, earnestly. "But the woman's daughter... there is... something in her manner and her appearance. Sir... her features."

Prince Roger did not flinch. "Does Her Majesty know about this nonsense?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord," the messenger said humbly. "And it is her wish you see the girl at once."

Roger was shocked and confused. "She knows? And she still wants me to meet the girl? Are you sure?"

"It's what I have been told to say, my lord. You see, the woman was a gypsy; she traveled with a group of European entertainers. She had no husband, and raised her daughter alone. Her Majesty the Queen is quite sharp in memory, my lord. She insists she remembers a troupe coming through Fengland and performing in court. She says she remembers this woman, a young lady at the time. She says she was tall and beautiful with rich dark hair and eyes like charcoal."

"Does she now?" Prince Roger murmured. "Sometimes I believe Her Majesty has a photographic memory. How else would she remember this one woman out of all the entertainers that have been here over the years..."

"It doesn't matter if she really does remember her or not," Prince Thomas spoke up, "My grandmother is persistent. She'll be unyielding in her decision that you should meet this girl."

"I know what my mother is like!" Roger snapped, suddenly uneasy. "And it's unlike her to insist on something without strong reason."

He looked up at the messenger who stood there quietly, watching the father and son with masked inquisitiveness.

"You may go now," the older prince said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Dad, you will really meet the girl?" Thomas said low, watching the retreating figure.

"The Queen's word is law," Roger said briskly, his composure gained again in an instant. "Although I am positive nothing will come out of it."
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She shuffled her feet, her dark face sullen and painted with the boredom that adolescents do so well. The palace around her was grand and rich, a sharp contrast to her own appearance, which was downright dismal. She stood in the hallway, plated with gold and filled with antique furniture, vases and paintings, carved and inlaid with jewels, and with windows hung with heavy, gold threaded curtains. She dared not even lean against one of the pillars, afraid she might leave a smudge of dirt. Instead, she stood upright in the center of the hallway, in her ratty jean jacket with the flower patches all over it. A woman in the troupe had "re-purposed" the jacket for her. She was almost certain it had been snitched from a clothes line.