princess {miniseries} {camren}

1

Clara walked through the hallways of the palace of Versailles. It was a bright and beautiful day outside, much too nice to be cooped up in an office.

Standing outside her husband's office, she waited for the guards to announce her presence.

"Hail, Queen Clara!" the guard cried, before opening the door.

King Michael was hunched over a stack of papers, scanning over the documents that were written in foreign tongues, with the seals from royal families.

"My love,"

Michael looked up from his work. Clara saw how stressed out her husband was.

"What ever is the matter, dear?" Clara asked, standing in front of the king's desk.

"A letter from King Daniel and Queen Johanna," Michael said, holding up the letter in his left hand. "And a letter from King Alejandro regarding his selected delegates,"

Clara pursed her lips. "Any from Barcelona?"

"No, mon amour. None from your home. All Madrid," Michael sighed. "The delegates will be here in the afternoon. King Alejandro requested that four of them be treated with the utmost respect,"

"Only four?" Clara asked, growing confused. "What about the other three?"

"I don't know," Michael said. "Alejandro wrote 'the four of utmost importance will be given special privileges, and report directly to me,"

Clara nodded slowly. "Perhaps a lord? Or one of his daughter's suitors?"

"No, I do not think so," Michael shook his head. "The last I heard, Princess Karla rejected Prince Shawn of Portugal's proposal of marriage, even after her father's urging. She has also refused the advances of Prince Austin of Austria,"

"I wonder why. She is already past the right age. Our Lauren was betrothed at the age of six!"

"The girl claims that Portugal is too weak, and Austria is too far from Madrid," Michael paused.

"There have also been... rumors," Michael said uncertainly. "Rumors that I do not wish to spread. I am never one to talk ill of a princess,"

Michael got up, smoothing the wrinkles out of his robes. "Come, my queen. Let us prepare for the guests,"

___

"Your grace?"

"Come in, Dinah," Lauren called, focusing on the easel in front of her.

Dinah shut the door behind her and curtsied. Then she kicked off her shoes and collapsed on Lauren's bed.

"Rough day?" the princess smirked.

"I hate etiquette class," Dinah grumbled. "How many times do I need to practice, 'I am Dinah of Normandy, my father is Gordon, Duke of Normandy?' Like they get it. I'm from Normandy. Let's move on,"

"It's going to be alright. Once you find a husband this will all stop, and you will go back home," Lauren comforted.

"That's the thing, your royal loserness, Versailles is my home now. I don't want to go home and become the Duchess of Normandy,"

"It's what we were born to do, Dinah. It's our birthright,"

Dinah groaned. There was a knock at the door.

"Alycia of Aquitaine!" the guard outside announced.

"Come in,"

Alycia walked in and smiled at her two friends before curtseying. "Your grace,"