Alexandria was only ever meant to be a princess. A scandalous socialite to grace the covers of gossip magazines and twitters trending page.
When her older brother tragically dies in a suicide, Alexa suddenly becomes the next heir to the English thr...
Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire. -Gustav Mahler ♛•♛•♛
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was nothing more than a fainting spell, though it managed to scare the living day lights out of everyone in the palace.
My father looked so unlike himself in the hospital bed. His Italian, tailored suit, was swapped for a loose, paper hospital gown, and his meticulously gray beard was shaggy and unkempt. He smelled like himself though, a hint of mint and pine.
Though we didn't have the kind of relationship where we "hugged", I instantly fell into his arms with relief. He rubbed the small of my back as he consoled me, though my trembling felt chronic. It started the minute I got the news of his hospitalization and didn't end until I finally pulled away, allowing my mother to press a kiss to his cheek.
His doctor respectfully bowed as he entered the room, clutching a clipboard in his hands. His stethoscope swung as he rose, and than he smiled. "Hello your highness."
I smiled.
When he said that, your highness, it didn't feel posh or formal. He said it lightly, as if on the verge of clear laughter. As if I was just a child playing princess. It made my heart swell.
Dr. Singh was incredibly familiar. From his turban, to his thick black beard, he was like a memory tucked in a Christmas stocking. He was our family doctor, and he'd even been in my delivery room when I was born. There was no one else I felt safer with. I wished he'd been there when my brother had died, but I was glad nonetheless that he was here with my family- making sure my dad was safe.
"Stress, Alexander, is today's surprising villain." Dr. Singh said in one long breath, setting down his clipboard and sharing a knowing look with my father. They were on first name basis. They had been friends in Eton College, back when my dad was young. "I would be a fool to ask if you've been stressed lately. More than usual."
My father sighed, "If its not that obvious. Yes."
Dr. Singh frowned. "How's your sleeping?"
Dr. Singh looked up at my mother when he asked, but she swallowed. She wouldn't know. My mother and father didn't sleep in the same bed, or even the same room.
"Horrible. I have too many things to do, and not enough hours in the day."
Dr. Singh nodded. "Your blood pressure is extremely high. If you don't take a break, start resting, you could become at risk for a heart attack."
The room grew eerily quite with dread. After so much loss recently, we couldn't afford to loose my father. On a more selfish note, I wasn't ready. Not to be Queen or head of the church. I needed him still.
I sat on the edge of his hospital bed, and grabbed my fathers hand, which felt oddly fragile. "Please." I said, my voice desperate, "I can take over some of your responsibility. Just until you get better. That way I can start learning about this role, and you can rest."
