"Brittany!" My mother calls. Well, she isn't really my mom. But she raised me, so I call her that.
"Yeah?" I yell.
"Come down here please." She yells.
I walk downstairs. Despite the fact that I have been in America since I could walk, I still have a Danish accent that is slightly there no matter what I do to get rid of it.
I'm Brittany Berit, princess of Denmark. But I live in America with a family trusted by my parents because I'm in an arranged marriage with the prince of England. Arranged marriages are a heated subject for several people-and countries-so I was sent away from my country so people wouldn't know about it. That way Denmark or England wouldn't be attacked.
My "mother's" name is May, and her husband's name is Joseph. They have raised me since I was a year old, when the deal for me to marry the prince was signed.
"Yes?" I ask May now.
"There is a letter for you." she says.
I take the envelope and read the address.
Laila Marie Berit
2354 Sun Street
Sydney, Australia 564903
Brittany Corrine Berit
7620 4th Street
New York, New York 45903
Laila is my twin sister. She was promised to the prince of France and sent to Australia for the same reason I was sent to America.
I hated the bitch.
She is so snobby, and she's always reminding me "what my duty to my country" is and other worthless shit I don't care about.
We look exactly alike, but on the inside we can't be more different. She thinks that we owe England and France, and marrying the heirs to their thrones is the least we can to.
I think that our parents owe France and England, and we are the ones having to pay the price.
She says that marrying men we haven't met is a common thing for princesses and queens.
I say this is the twenty-first fucking century.
As you can probably guess, Laila and I don't get along well. So it is a good thing we don't live in the same country.
We don't talk often, so a letter from her is shocking. She must be telling me to remember I'm engaged, even though I'm not even sixteen yet.
Like that even matters.
I open the envelope and pull out the letter.
Dear Brittany,
I just wanted to tell you I have heard recently from Mother and Father. Please call me, for it is important. I attached a phone number at the bottom of the page. This is a serious matter, so please do call me.
Love, Laila.
Rolling my eyes, I read the number and grabbed my cell phone. A few minutes later the ringing stops and my sister answers the phone.
"Brittany?" she asks.
"It's me. What's up?" I ask.
"Oh thank goodness. I was worried you wouldn't call." she says.
"Well I did. What did you want to tell me?" I ask, annoyed.
"It's about mother and father." she says. Somehow she has managed to lose her Danish accent and pick up the Australian one.
"What about them?" I ask. I've only seen my birth parents a few times since I was sent away. Once I went to Denmark to see the place of my birth when I was nine, and then they came to New York for my tenth birthday and Laila came too. Then for our twelfth birthday we went to Australia, and we all met in Japan for our thirteenth birthday.
That was the last time I saw them.
"I'm so sorry to tell you this, Brittany, but..." Laila stops, taking a deep breath.
"But what, Laila?" I demand.
"Mother and Father have been killed in a shipwreck, Brittany."
YOU ARE READING
The Queen of England
FantasyOnce there were twin princesses born to the king and queen of Denmark. Their birth was a miracle; one caused by the Queen of England and the King of France. In return, one princess was promised to the prince of England and the other was promised to...
