Bastille Imagines

Reign Over You

A/N: I've been watching The Crown on Netflix (cos of Matt Smith bby) and that's basically the influence for this. Hope you enjoy!

Sitting, more anxiously than usual, in the position that's moulded your posture ever since you were a little girl. Your mother always told you that a princess must never slouch. Well, there was never enough 'a princess must never...' rules coming from your mother's mouth, but that one in particular was exercised daily.

And today is no exception.

The 90° regal chair has your spine crumbling with discomfort, but yet you comply with the expected attribute influenced by your mother's incessant lessons on being royal. Surrounded by many alike you, you dine in celebration of your 25th birthday. You discreetly glance around the room, struggling to pair faces with names and names with faces.

There's a substantial gap between knowing someone and knowing of someone. You peer to your sister, dressed in her finely detailed gown, sitting elegantly around her hips and shoulders flattering her almost-perfect body. You know everything there is to her especially being 3 years older, familiarity couldn't come closer to you with anyone else anymore than it does with her.

Again you peer around the room, spotting the old gentlemen talking to your uncle with sincere solemnity. Who is that? Why is he invited? What relation does he have to your family? Should you know him? Have you met him before? These are the questions that burn your mind and you ask yourself if all guests really are as important as your mother entails.

Drowning the nerves with the glass of champagne that sits neatly in the curve of your hand, you plaster on a smile, clear your throat and make your announcement.

"Good evening everyone. I would like to express my gratitude to everyone who came today in celebration of my 25th birthday. From family members to office secretaries, and from dukes and duchesses to school friends, I cannot personally thank you all enough for the wonderful gifts I have received. Now, if you would like to join me in the grand hall for refreshments and entertainment, that would be absolutely wonderful."

If only you could cut to the chase sooner. But, as a princess, everything you say must be formal to some respect. Your mother always told you that whatever you say must show a degree of intelligence, otherwise you'll be mistaken for someone who is uneducated, immature, inexperienced: traits that won't be tolerated at this level of authority. Whether anyone has ever thought of you like that, you don't know. But you always did what you were told despite what you believed.

It's just all part of being royal, isn't it?

Just as you had advised, the crowd of people slowly disperse into the grand hall. You sheepishly follow behind, lagging behind the rest to gain some privacy in the dining hall to gather your thoughts before mingling with the guests, familiar or not.

Well, at least you thought you had some privacy.

"It must be hard," a gentleman's voice appears from beside you. You whip around to see a man of around your age. His navy blue uniform hugs him in all the right places, multiple badges glistening and polished to a sheen on his sash. He's royal alright, a duke maybe. Unfamiliar. Strikingly charming if you do say so yourself.

"What is?"

"Being polite to complete strangers you'll probably never meet again and who are only involved with your family because they're desperately grasping onto candlelit hope at the end of the tunnel, that somehow, your power just might become theirs," he bluntly remarks, plastering a proud grin on his lips. A sly snigger escapes your lips, blown away by his blatancy which, you admit, speaks the truth.