Hidden Heirs and Fallen Crowns (Complete)

Chapter 1

A/N:  

This is one of the many (many, many!) first drafts of HHAFC. I can proudly say that it is the first story that I have managed to complete to novel length (although it did take me a year and a half ;P) so I hope you'll like it! Looking back on it I realised that my writing has drastically improved over that period of time, so don't be too put off if the beginning's a bit dodgy - it gets better, I promise. :D

And on a side note, anyone who votes all the way through gets a dedictation and a BIG virtual wet kiss from me XD (Virtual, mind.)

Anyway, that's enough of my babbling, so ENJOOOOYYY...

Janna.

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Chapter 1:

"And for God's sake, Suzanne," Mum said, picking up her handbag and adjusting her rectangle glasses, "don't let the fish burn."

"I won't," I answered, staring determinedly at the fish for any signs of over cooking. Last time Mum had left me in charge of the fish she came back to find only black ashes in the pan and the house filled with smoke. The whole street heard our fire alarm go off.

I wasn't about to let that happen again, though. I stared at the fish, daring it to burn, for two minutes straight.

Then I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and gripped the edge of the chair to remind myself of the important task I had been set. I stared for another thirty seconds.

"Suzanne?"

"Hmm?" I said, my eyes never leaving the fish.

"You don't have to stare at it like that, honey. Just keep an eye on it."

I looked up to see Mum in the doorway, frowning worriedly at me. I grinned. "OK."

"I'll be back in two minutes."

"Bye."

She closed the kitchen door behind her, and then the front door a few seconds later, leaving the house unusually quiet.

As soon as the front door was slammed shut, I relaxed and leaned back against the chair. Who would have ever thought fish could be so stressful?

I got up and flipped the fish perfectly, a skill I had learnt from a chef who had stopped working years ago - also known as Mum.

I gazed around at the clean, shiny kitchen. Mum wouldn't let her kitchen be messy at any time of any day, and always left the tables, microwaves, ovens and everything else that could possibly shine dazzling by the time she left the kitchen.

I stood up, glanced at the fish again, and made for the fridge. One thing about having a retired chef as a mum is that the fridge is always loaded with leftovers and desserts. I picked an elegant mini French strawberry tart and went back to my chair.

Just as I was about to bite into the sweet tart, the sound of a door being slammed open reached me. I froze, tart halfway between my lap and open mouth, expecting to see Mum at the door.

What I saw was much, much worse.

Imagine everything that makes someone ugly: warts, angled nose, pinched face, a toothless smirk, dirty, pointed nails, and place it in the creature I was looking at. Bright red hair struck out on end, as if an electric current was whizzing through it. It stood, slightly hunched, as if getting ready to pounce.

"You are going to pay for this," the monster snarled. "Pay with your life!"

I sighed, putting down the mini French strawberry tart with a whole, sweet strawberry, deliciously swirly beige cream and a mouth-watering biscuit at the bottom, all topped with sticky, sugary syrup that gave it a finishing shine. I patiently placed it on the silver counter table behind me. It would have to wait.